


L'Enfant Sauvage

by missdorothysnarker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, But he's not exactly Mother Teresa, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Feral Behavior, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hebephilia, Infantilism, Infidelity, M/M, Pedophilia, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, child grooming, dream featuring cross-dressing, feral!child!Will, mother-of-all-AUs, predatory behavior in every capacity, predatory sexual behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 56
Words: 52,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdorothysnarker/pseuds/missdorothysnarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At thirty-six years of age, Dr. Hannibal Lecter has it all: a beautiful wife, a daughter he adores, a successful career as a child psychiatrist, and an elite place in Baltimore society. But the darker urges seething beneath his carefully-cultivated persona threaten to erupt when he receives a call from Children's Bureau about a feral child found wandering in the backwoods of Virginia. Deprived, naked, filthy and anonymous, the twelve-year-old boy is more animal than human, fascinating Hannibal beyond the point of no return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was a tall, powerfully built man, thirty-six years of age, always elegantly attired in bespoke suits which would make a lesser man resemble a peacock. His fine fair hair, streaked with silver, was combed back to reveal a sharp widow's peak; his nose was aquiline, his cheekbones jutting, his wide mouth tightly drawn in an expression of serene stoicism. Most striking were his dark, deep-set eyes of a charred sienna brown, flecked with gold which at times seemed crimson.

Hannibal had been married to one Alana Bloom-Lecter for the past decade, much to the disappointment of many Baltimore debutantes and divorcees who found his persona - that of an enigmatic European gentleman-and-scholar- to be devastatingly attractive. He had wed Alana not out of anything so louche as love, but because he regarded her as his ideal match, complementing his own physical appearance, intellect and psychiatric expertise. Like many of his designs, their marriage was a success in the eyes of all; he was fond of her and had never been tempted to stray from their bed. But Alana's appeal paled beside that of their nine-year-old daughter Abigail, who inherited her mother's pale, pointed face, sheet of dark hair and intense blue eyes, as well as her father's ruthlessness, hidden misanthropy and talent for deception.

The Lecter residence was a large, tasteful house in the wealthier suburbs of Baltimore, filled with magnificent object d'art and a perpetually hushed atmosphere which mirrored that of the aesthete intimacy of Hannibal's downtown office. For the years he had been practicing, he was remarkably successful and well-respected, both in the field of child psychiatry and amongst the creme-de-la-creme of Baltimore society, able to indulge his socially-acceptable passion for studying physically and mentally deficient children alongside the children of privilege who made up the bulk of his practice. 

+

The day on which his life changed was irrevocably appeared much like any other; Hannibal sat behind his mahogany desk consolidating his coded notes about Frankie Froideveaux, a patient who had just left. Yet another materially spoiled but emotionally starved scion of the wealthy, Frankie attempted to fill his loneliness and self-loathing with food, resulting in a weight problem, and he sought attention and affection desperately. Hannibal sighed; Frankie was growing far too attached to him, projecting him as an ideal father figure, and his therapy was becoming useless and his behavior inappropriate. He would be referred to another psychiatrist soon, but not before a sickening display of tears and temper. Pathetic little pigs like Frankie should be snuffed out at birth, it was kinder in the long run, he mused. 

Hannibal's meditation on the matter was shattered at the ring of his smartphone, Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It was Jack Crawford, the Acting Associate Commissioner of the Children's Bureau in Washington, DC, who occasionally contacted Hannibal to consult on severe cases of child abuse and deprivation. Hannibal did not like Jack, but he tolerated his presence at his dinner parties to ensure his place as Jack's go-to consultant on such matters.

'Jack, it's a pleasure to hear from you,'

'Hannibal, I'm going to dispense with pleasantries. We have an urgent situation here and could do with your expertise.'

Hannibal smiled slightly, his appetite whetted. Even the irascible Jack Crawford was never quite so blunt, which suggested something truly out of the ordinary. 

'Yes, I am only too happy to offer my services. Might I ask what this situation entails?'

Jack sighed. 

'The short version is that a farmer in Wolf Trapp found a naked kid stealing his harvest, and when he shouted and chased after him, the boy escaped into the woods, loping like an animal. I don't know how, but it looks like we've got a case of a feral child on our hands. A team managed to chase him down and catch him, give him a tranquilizer. He's at the base now, but... Hannibal, you've got to see him to believe it. I've never seen anything like it in my twenty-five years working in child welfare. We could really use your help, before the media frenzy gets too crazy.'

'Has it reached the Tattler yet?'

'No, but somehow that damn Freddie Lounds got hold of the story. She's always sniffing around here from the latest scandal for that rag of hers; breaking the pedo priest story ten years ago wasn't enough. Her readers are always hungry for incest, abuse, molestation... And we've got plenty of it.'

Jack's voice was bitter, lost in thought. Hannibal had already donned his dapper peacoat, scarf and gloves. 

'I'll be there in an hour, traffic providing.' 

His heartbeat was heightened, as if with the trill of the hunt. 

'Thanks, Hannibal. Don't worry, the kid's not going anywhere.' 

Jack's laugh was grim, but Hannibal had already cut him off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm totally overwhelmed by the response my little snippet got. It's very exciting to be part of such a dynamic fandom, and hopefully you guys like where I take this. It's gonna get dark and weird. 
> 
> Warnings: Again, I have no practical experience in any of these fields, and in any case Lecter and Chilton are horrible models for the profession. Chilton is very insensitive in talking about mentally- and developmentally-handicapped children, so just FYI. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos much appreciated!

The Rehabilitation Center for Children was a sprawling, Victorian red brick edifice looming in the outskirts of Washington, DC, in stark contrast to the cold, clean lines Hannibal preferred. Jack met him in the parking lot, a tense expression on his face which Hannibal thought made him resemble a bulldog, quite aptly. 

'Thank God you're here. The kid just threw a fit like a damn wild animal while he was being bathed and Chilton's threatening to put him in isolation. Imagine if the press got word of that, 'Isolated Feral Child Put in Isolation by the Children's Bureau. Just the kind of publicity we need.'

Hannibal concealed his distaste, both at Chilton's involvement in the case and Jack's crude attempts at irony as they walked into the building.

'I hope my presence will not precipitate matters, but as you know, I have extensive experience in the area of developmentally-impaired children, although perhaps not in such an extreme case as this,' said Hannibal evenly. Jack snorted in response. 

'I think you can be sure of that. We've been unable to identify the boy by his dental records, and he doesn't match up with any reported missing or abducted children. But it's impossible in this day and age, in the state of Virginia for Christ's sake, that a child could survive alone and naked in the woods for an extensive period of time without either dying or being seen by somebody.'  
'Stranger things have happened, my friend.'

Jack sighed. 

'For the kid's sake, I hope not.'

+

They were greeted by Frederick Chilton in his office, a room full of leather-bound books he'd never read, and diplomas and certificates of little note. Hannibal despised him, but was tempered by the sight of the man limping, despite the aid of an ostentatious silver cane. Only a year ago Chilton had been nearly disemboweled by a rabid little creature by the name of Abel Gideon, who had fashioned a knife out of a shard of glass and a toothbrush, lured Chilton close, and attempted to gut him. He was only saved by the quick thinking of a nearby nurse; Abel was now a resident of a juvenile detention center, but he had left his mark. 

'Ah, Dr. Lecter, what a pleasure to see you joining us,' oozed Chilton, shaking his hand affectedly. Hannibal was amused by the potent mixture of admiration, envy and loathing Chilton held for him; despite plastering his wall with diplomas, the man was no doctor, and knew it. 

'The pleasure is all mine,' 

'I trust Jack has brought you up to date on the wild child who recently joined us?'

Jack bristled at Chilton's informality, but said nothing. 

'To the best of his ability, but I trust you will do the same,'

'Oh, assuredly. This is what we know: a boy of eleven or twelve years of age was found in the Wolf Trapp forest, completely nude, filthy and foul-smelling. His sex and race were almost indiscernible he was washed, which he violently resisted. Here Rehabilitation Center I have been subject to many aggressive attacks by savage children, but this boy is almost inhuman in his ferocity. I say this as a precaution, Dr. Lecter; we wouldn't want that fine suit of yours to be ruined, now would we?'

Hannibal smiled. If only Chilton knew how much he desired to stain his suit red with Chilton's blood.

'Not if it can be helped, but these are extenuating circumstances,'

'Of course. He appears to be mute and deaf, yet he is also acutely aware of his surroundings; despite being severely malnourished, short and scarred, he is otherwise normal in anatomy, although he walks like an ape, crouching close to the ground with his arms dangling. He seems to find the touch of anyone intolerable, regarding other people with a sense of fear and hatred; from the scar on his neck, we assume that someone tried to slit his throat and failed before abandoning him in the woods, left to starve to death. How long he was alone in the wild is unknown, but it's nothing short of miraculous that he survived for any amount of time, and remained undiscovered. It is my belief that he was rejected by his parents or guardians for his apparent mental abnormalities, possibly retardation, but at this early stage, I won't draw a conclusion. But as I'm sure you know from your research, Dr. Lecter, that in such cases it is highly unlikely that feral children are rehabilitated into functioning members of society, and that he will likely live out his life in an adult asylum that can cater to his needs, like others of his kind.'  
Jack looked disgusted at Chilton's lack of professional objectivity. 

'Surely it's too early to determine his mental capacity,'

Chilton shrugged. 

'Perhaps. But I find my initial impressions are not often wrong,' he said smugly. 

Hannibal was thrumming with impatience to see this mystery boy, this feral child. In his youth in Lithuania, he had heard stories of children raised by wolves. Forsaken by their family, they became alien brutes, hunting their former flesh and blood. He had always identified with these creatures, these Loupes.

'My thanks for your thoughts on the matter, Frederick, but I prefer to draw a conclusion for myself. Shall we see the boy?'

'Of course. I'll have an orderly take you to his room. But bear in mind my warning: he spits, claws, bites and kicks like some kind of beast. He's also incontinent and masturbates shamelessly. I've already learned my lesson, though thankfully I had a tranquilizer at hand.'

For a split second, Hannibal's eyes darkened with rage at the thought of this putrid worm laying hands on the boy, but he steeled his mask into an expression of impassivity. 

'I'll be there to make sure nothing happens,' said Jack, overlooking Chilton's violation of procedure. 

The orderly led them to the room where the boy was kept, which resembled a sterile prison cell. Hannibal's first impression was one of repugnance, not at the boy barefoot on the floor, but at the straitjacket and hockey mask which bound him. 

'Are these measures really necessary?' he asked mildly. 

Jack was displeased but resigned. 'I know you hate these things – as I do myself – but in this case it's for the best. They stop him from hurting himself or anyone else, which he will do. You should have seen him earlier, he was growling and biting like a mad dog, kicked off his shoes, ripped off his hospital gown, gauging his arms as well as the nurse's.'

Hannibal said nothing, moving nearer to examine the boy. 

'Don't get too close,' said Jack.

Hannibal ignored him. The boy snarled through the plastic mask, foamy with clotted saliva, hunched, rocking back and forth against the wall. But his fury had been defused; he was listless and dull-eyed, no longer straining against the straitjacket, smelling strongly of sweat and spit, despite his bath only hours before. 

But despite this, somehow, the boy was lovely. His eyes were deep-set, long-lashed and blue-green, beautiful despite being crusted with tears and grit, slitted in animal wariness against a strange and hostile world filled with predators. He seemed to recognize Hannibal as one, a kind of alien danger; his eyes dilating with fear, but still he growled defensively. Hannibal could see a spirit and cunning cleverness that had enabled him to survive, small and vulnerable as he was.

'Shhh, shhhh...' Hannibal spoke softly and slowly, in to calm the boy, struck by his small size: at twelve years of age, he was only four-and-a-half feet tall. He was relatively fair-skinned for one continually exposed to the harsh elements, marked with small silvery scars, some new and some old; his dark chestnut curls fell in long matted locks over his forehead, heightening the cherubic roundness of his childlike face which was set on the stem of a long graceful neck, marred only by the thick scar slashed across his vocal chords.

+


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, I can't believe the response I've gotten after only posting a measly two chapters. I struggled with this one, but I hope it doesn't disappoint, and my apologies for the delay - I was busy volunteering at a film fest, and I'm afraid my exams are coming up in a few weeks so I'm going to be mad as a hatter and very stressed, but I have no intention of abandoning this story as it's sunk into my brain...
> 
> I hate using euphemisms for characters, so I'm going to find a way to integrate Will's name in the next chapter, so I don't have to keep calling him 'boy' or 'the child' or *shudder* 'the brunette'.
> 
> Many thanks for all your kind words and kudos!

The child's eyes wandered although he appeared aware of Hannibal's presence, cringing into himself and snapping impotently inside the mask with his fanged, discolored teeth. Hannibal approached him slowly, crouching down to where he squatted, repressing the urge to cover his nose and mouth with his handkerchief.

'Hannibal, I don't think-' began Jack, watching from the wall, thick arms crossed over his barrel chest. 

He was ignored by the room's two other occupants, Hannibal reaching for the boy and holding his chin up so that he was forced to meet his eyes. The child struggled, wriggling like a worm in his arms, his eyes alight with fear before he went limp and bared his throat in submission, recognising Hannibal as the superior predator, a dangerous animal beneath the smoothness of his suit. 

What do you see, wolf-cub, thought Hannibal, staring into his deep gray eyes. What do you see in me, I wonder...

+

Jack broke the silence, clearing his throat loudly. 

'Well, I see this is a successful introduction. You seem to have the magic touch with kids, Doctor. If only Chilton had your gift,' he said, tone wry. 

'What has he been fed?' asked Hannibal, feeling the boy's bones jutting sharply beneath the thin hospital-gown he wore. He knew he would not approve of the answer, likely cafeteria-ration rubbish. 

'I think they tried to feed him some kind of porridge, Cream of Wheat; something he doesn't have to chew, but he threw the bowl on the ground in a fit and ate it up like an animal, smearing around the rest. He doesn't know how to use utensils and doesn't register extremes of temperature, at least according to the nurse who bathed him.'

'And there has been no identification made, as to his own identity or that of his parents,' 

'No, we haven't found anything as of yet, which is unbelievable in this day and age. It's like the kid never even existed, no birth certificate, nothing.'

Hannibal withdrew from the boy, although his hands ached to cradle and subdue him again, as the child immediately attempted to crawl beneath the bed, whimpering, curled into a fetal position that revealed the silvery scars carved into the soles of his feet.

There is nowhere to hide anymore, thought Hannibal, watching him with mild amusement, even as rage bolted through his body at the sight of such crass abuse.

+

'These marks are not made by animals or from thorns in the forest,' he mused aloud. 'Unless by animals we speak of the human race, which unlike other species, maims and kills for no other purpose but pleasure.'

'A real monster alright, ensuring this kid will always be a freak and an outcast even if he manages to survive. You know, before I arrived this morning, Chilton had him taken to the cafeteria with all the other kids for breakfast to see what would happen,'

'An experiment of sorts; our good friend seems fond of them,'

'You can say that again. So the kid made a lot of friends by stealing milk and yogurt from the others and then spitting the food in his mouth onto them like a baby spitting-up. At first the other kids were interested in him, but after that they all turned on him within seconds like some goddamn Lord of the Flies shit. Even the meekest little deaf-mute ganged up on him, kicking and yanking at his clothes and hair and forcing him to the ground before Price and Zeller hauled him away.'

'How traumatic for him, to be so trapped in a strange environment with alien, hostile creatures,' said Hannibal, his loathing for Chilton curdling in the pit of his stomach. He was an obstacle that had to be dealt with, to prevent him from permanently destroying the child's primal spirit, identifying Hannibal as the dominant beast beneath the veneer of socially-acceptable civility.

The living conditions administered by Chilton in the children's ward were simply unacceptable; the boy would have to be moved, preferably released to Hannibal's own care. There was only the matter of maneuvering Jack and Alana, and Hannibal was adapt at manipulating both. A rank odor disturbed his deliberation – the unmistakable ammonia-soaked scent of urine, both a territorial marking and a signal of primitive terror.

+

'For Christ's sake, he's pissed himself again. I told Beverly to put him in diapers to avoid having to clean up his mess yet again, but did she listen?' ranted Jack, looking disgusted as he pressed a button for aid.

From his days as a surgeon, and years as a father of Abigail, Hannibal was well-versed in bodily functions and fluids, and despite his hyper-sensitive olfactory organs and rarified tastes, he was not repelled by reminders of the basic ugliness of the human body, excreting waste matter a process shared by every creature on earth. 

Hannibal caught a glimmer of the boy's eyes in the darkness beneath the bed, bright with defiance, the mask sticky and glistening with salvia and nasal mucus. He felt a strange fondness for this act of rebellion, of provocation; bound and gagged, the nameless child refused to be a passive participant in his fate, taking revenge against those who sought to subdue him by literally engaging in a pissing contest. He saw a spark of his own indomitable spirit in this feral creature, but when he was turned over to Hannibal – which he would ensure by whichever means necessary – the boy would be made to understand that Hannibal was his master, shaping his bestial soul to complement his own. All the better that the child had no spoken tongue; he would be remade, reborn in the crucible of Hannibal's arms, beautiful and broken. 

+

As Ms. Katz and her associates, Price and Zeller hurried into the room, wrinkling their noses in sync and joking as they clinically sterilized both the cowering boy and the room, Hannibal turned to Jack Crawford. 

'We must talk,' he said. 

Jack looked up at him, brow furrowed. 

'I think I know what about.'

Hannibal smiled and held his peace. Let the old fool think what he would. As they turned from the room, he locked eyes with the listless boy, whose dull eyes sharpened with awareness of danger before he dropped his gaze to the ground, a mere animal once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I'll try not to let more than a week go without posting a chapter, but I'm currently in the throes of exams. No Will in this chapter unfortunately, just fake-fluffy family shenanigans. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely kudos and comments, they make my day! Enjoy reading.

+

_That night, Hannibal dreamed of a dark room filled with rows of cages resembling dog kennels in a pound. In each was a former or current patient of his – Frankie, Margot, Benjamin, Randall – all whimpering and snarling at him, their sounds desperate, bestial and sad, shoving and beating against the bars of their cages. Hannibal ignored them all, intent on the last in the line, holding a boy who whined and whimpered like a kicked dog, his enormous pale eyes luminous with tears._

The creature was pitiful, an appalling sight to anyone with a sliver of human empathy; a quality which Hannibal knew only to well that he lacked. The boy wept wretchedly, becoming more and more provoked as he attempted to stretch one thin arm through the bars of his cage as Hannibal came to stand in front of it. The child's eyes were anxious to meet his own, as if searching in their depths for something he was desperate to find. 

Hannibal found he could hardly stand to meet those penetrating eyes, uncharacteristically uneasy, yet paradoxically he could not take his eyes off the boy. How could such a creature survive, alone, in the wilderness? Deep in sleep, he felt a sudden sense of sorrow at the image of the child trapped in an alien environment, when once he had been free to roam the fields, innocently amoral in a world of uncivilized savagery... 

+

He arose as if surfacing from a body of water, without mental drowsiness or a startled awakening, just a smooth shift to alertness from unconsciousness, aware of the slumbering body of his wife beside him. Hannibal observed the cacao spill of her hair, the scent of her skin mingled with that of their love-making the night before, after he had told her of the feral child, the l'enfant sauvage, and how Jack had appointed him as the boy's primary psychiatrist. 

'I'm sure Chilton appreciated that,' she'd laughed. Alana was a gentle but opinionated soul, and those who earned her dislike felt a clear chill in her presence, Chilton amongst them. 

'He wasn't pleased, but the good doctor is in no condition to argue with Jack after the unfortunate incident with Abel Gideon.'

The darkness inside of him had stretched languorously, baring its teeth at the thought at being barred access to the boy, of having that natural potential thwarted by a clumsy opportunist. 

'That poor little kid... I can't even imagine the horrors he must have faced, all alone...' she said softly, a double-edged blade of maternal compassion and righteous anger.

'Papa! I want to show you my lost tooth!'

Abigail – Hannibal forbade vulgar diminutives such as 'Abby' – interrupted her parent's dinner conversation, although she had already been sent to bed. Hannibal was not a lenient man, but he tended to indulge his daughter, according to Alana, 'spoiling her rotten' but he knew it was because in Abigail he recognized a creature like himself, manipulative and voracious. 

Garbed in rosebud pajamas, Abigail climbed into his lap, opening her mouth wide for him to see the tender red hole on her lower gums were a baby tooth had been. 

'I pulled it out myself,' she told him proudly, displaying a tiny white tooth, sharp at the bottom where it had been unrooted, with small bloody thread of flesh still dangling. 

'Ok, Abigail, I think Daddy's seen enough now. I told you to put it away under your pillow so the tooth fairy can come tonight, right?' Alana tried to contain her laughter at the gruesome little memento being waved in Hannibal's face. 

'Hmm, quite an impressive specimen we have here. Am I to believe you extracted it yourself without tears or a dentist?'

'It didn't even hurt!' crowed Abigail, wrapping her plump little arms around her father's neck.

'My brave warrior,' Hannibal said, kissing her crown before passing her over to Alana to be put back to bed. 

'This brave little warrior is going to miss out on her fairy money if she doesn't go to bed now,' said Alana, carrying her away. 

'Night, Papa,' yawned Abigail from over her mother's shoulder, rubbing her eyes with a fist.

+

Hannibal didn't reply, his attention caught by an article that popped up on his iPad's newsfeed. 

MODERN DAY WILD CHILD FOUND IN VIRGINIA: MORE ANIMAL THAN HUMAN?!

Ah, curtesy of the latter day yellow journalist, Freddie Lounds. Bane of the Children's Bureau and general nuisance, despite the dissonance of her Pre-Raphaelite looks. She'd wasted little time in leaking the story in the sordidly sensational manner characteristic of the Tattler website; he had expected no less of her.

_According to the Tattler's confidential sources in the Children's Bureau, a twelve-year-old boy was discovered earlier today in rural Wolf Trap, Virginia, completely naked and alone, running around like a Neanderthal or a monkey, crouched low to the ground. The boy and his previous guardians have not yet been identified, but our sources say he can't talk or understand the English language, is violent, scarred and has somehow survived by himself in the woods for years. Could this be the missing link with our prehistoric ancestors scientists have been waiting for? Is he a miracle or a modern-day Mowgli? Was he abandoned by his parents for being mentally retarded, disabled or deranged? Only time will tell, and until then, keep reading the Tattler for the latest expert news on all things freaky!!_

Hannibal smiled slightly. Sometimes he thought such base ignorance should be snuffed out, but the Tattler's lurid drivel was a consistent source of amusement, an insistent reminder of the squalid ugliness of America's media circus. 

While he mused, a scrolling sidebar of blinking bright red letters emerged across the article, blaring 'BREAKING NEWS!!! WOLF-BOY AND PARENTS IDENTIFIED AT LAST!!!'

As if on cue, his cellphone buzzed Beethoven's 9th symphony. Jack, of course. 

'Yes?' he answered, smooth as glass.

'Hannibal. We've found out who the kid is – he's Will Graham. The son of Garret Jacob Graham.'

'Ah, I see,' said Hannibal, watching himself in the windowpane, his smile feral with delight. 

+


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One exam done, one to go, and one week until I fly home! Which means more fic on the way. Poor Jack, he needs a hug, and a better friend than Hannibal. Please excuse my shitty pseudo-forensic science. 
> 
> Thanks for kudos and comments, they make me happy, and feral!Will growl with joy.

'William Graham, son of the Virginia Shrike,' said Hannibal, contemplatively. 'He had been presumed dead for over a year, correct?'

'Yeah. We ID'd him as the second charred body in the Graham house fire, the third being Louise Graham, the wife. He didn't have any official dental records but he was the right age, right size...' 

Jack's voice was bitter with admitting defeat. 

'He was the one to spark his father's obsession, the only one to escape his final slaughter. All the other victims resembled William; dark-haired Caucasian prepubescent boys, all nude, disemboweled, splayed and mounted on a set of antlers, calling to mind the rape of Ganymede...'

'The boys weren't raped or otherwise had their genitals interfered with, Dr. Lecter. He didn't violate them sexually, he just ate them.' 

'Perhaps not, but his manner of displaying them – penetrating their nude bodies with antlers, consuming their internal organs – suggests an underlying pathological need for possession. Graham violently denied his desire for his young son, defusing the double taboo of incest and homosexuality through the means of proxy bodies.'

Jack sighed, running a hand through his short-cropped, greying hair.

'Whatever the truth may be, the kid was obviously messed up before his time in the woods. There are no records of him attending school, going to the doctor or the dentist, no friends, no eyewitness accounts of him even existing until the end when Garret Jacob started to lose his grip. Our best guess is that Will was kept holed up in a room somewhere like an animal, no human contact except for an aggressive, violent father and a completely cowed, clinically blind mother. And somehow I don't think they homeschooled him, either.'

Hannibal hummed his agreement. 'Shall we see William, then?' he asked, reigning in his impatience. 

+

Hannibal's mind raced at the manifold possibilities lying dormant in the boy. Within a voiceless body, he held a wealth of dark secrets, a lifetime of abuse and neglect etched into the skin of his mind. Had he been aware of his father's perverse lust, of slaying surrogate sons in a futile attempt to purge himself of sinful thoughts? Had he been fed on the glut of shadow twins, of phantom brothers? 

Hannibal longed to reach deep into the boy's throat, to draw out the nightmare leaves which clogged his gullet, stoppering his memories and fixing him within a world of silence. 

Jack reached out as Hannibal stood, catching him by the arm. 

'Look, Hannibal, we need some good press to come out of this. I'm not asking for a miracle, but the slightest success – if we can establish some kind of communication with the kid, try and identify what if anything he knows about what happened, who the other body might be... Anything, anything at all we can throw like meat to the piranhas, you know what I'm saying. You think he's not – not mentally handicapped, like Chilton, right? That there's some hope for recovery?'

His dark eyes were searching, pleading. Hannibal clasped his hand over Jack's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

'I assure you I will do all that I can, Jack. The boy is likely scarred from years of abuse and isolation, but I do not believe he is intellectually disabled, as my colleague does. I trust that with time, and proper care, he can forge relationships with others, and taught to communicate by sign language, if not vocalization. That said, in other cases dealing with feral children, such as the study of the deprived child 'Genie' in 1970s LA, clinical environments such as hospitals and rehabilitation centers the lack constant and focused care of a family home. To be drawn out of his asocial world, he needs to bond with another.'

'Let me guess: this other he needs would be yourself?' asked Jack, wryly. 

'I see I can hide nothing from one as astute as yourself, Jack,' answered Hannibal, enjoying the irony.

'If only others were as transparent,' said Jack, shaking his head. _Fool,_ thought Hannibal. _You see only what I wish you to see._

+

'Be careful. He just made a number two. We cleaned it up, but let's just say it lingers.' Beverly smiled ruefully. 'He's been eating plaster from the walls. Apparently even drywall tastes better than the cafeteria food.'

The smell of feces beneath the astringent odor of industrial-strength sanitizer was oppressive; Jack suppressed a retch manfully. The rain outside the shut windows seemed to aggravate the reek, confining it to the small room, fixed to the dampness in the air. 

The boy, William Graham, didn't shrink or blink at their entry as he had the day before, gazing at them expressionlessly. He was clothed in a clean standard-order beige straitjacket that made his skin sallow, the plastic mask covering his lower face. Hannibal knelt beside him, staring into his eyes. He raised his plastic-cupped chin so he had to look directly at him. The boy did not struggle, limp and passive in his grasp.

'William,' he said, watching carefully. There was no response, no glint of recognition in the entrancing grey eyes. Hannibal might have said anything in his own mother tongue, so alien was the boy's own name to himself. 

He unfastened the straps of the straitjacket, ignoring Jack's cough of caution in the corner. Immediately William caught at the sleeve of Hannibal's heavy, navy blue blazer, clamping his fingers on the cuff, their nails no longer sharp and curved claws but blunt and clean, cut to the quick. He seemed taken with the silken texture and plaid pattern, bringing his arm closer so that the material rubbed against the skin of his temple. Sensing the boy wanted to feel the fabric against the skin of his cheek, Hannibal removed the mask.

'Hannibal, he's gonna bite you,' warned Jack. 

'He'll do no such thing,' he replied, and the boy didn't. He merely massaged Hannibal's sleeve over his cheeks and chin, with a look of rapturous pleasure at the sensation. Hannibal did not pull away, his arm pliant in William's hand, even as salvia and mucus soaked through the cloth, sticking to his skin in a manner which would later crust and wrinkle. 

'That jacket of yours is never going to be the same,' observed Jack, and though he was right, the other two occupants might as well have been deaf and blind to all but one another. 

+


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this update is long over-due, I do apologize for the wait, but I was jet lagged and then got a new macbook which is awesome.
> 
> So. How about that finale? Shattering is the only word for it, and thank fuck there's a third season! But nothing says 'I love you' like being gutted like a fish, right? Fuck yeah, I (still) ship a sadistic serial killer and a mentally unstable empath. *Sob*
> 
> Enjoy, and I hope to have a regular updating schedule now that it's summer time!
> 
> EDIT: Does anybody know how to get rid of the blurb at the bottom? It was only supposed to be at the end of the first chapter, but I don't know how to delete from the others, and it's annoying me...

Hannibal watched the boy's shadow nod across the industrial-grey wall. His respiration was so strained, Hannibal was surprised was able to inhale enough oxygen to survive; no simple chill could sound so wretchedly serious. William curled against him, as though too frail to bear his own body weight. Hannibal bent to lift him up, touching his icy skin, which was rough to the touch; somehow he had retained a hint of baby plumpness beneath the flesh, despite his severely underweight, malnourished body. 

The boy abruptly drew back as if he had scented danger, dashing his shoulder into the doorknob of the closed door, striking his head against the edge with a whimper of pain.

'Oh Christ...' muttered Jack as he bent down to right him, but William gave an uncanny, high-pitched shriek at the sight of Jack barreling towards him, running away to the other side of the room. Hannibal noted immediately that he couldn't run correctly; he loped along quickly, but unevenly, moving as if his own body was unbalanced. 

Hannibal didn't give chase, but stood silently, observing. Jack grunted and gave up, returning to his post by the door. It wasn't as if the kid had anywhere else to go, with the door bolted shut. 

Still watching Jack warily, William backed away from him until he bumped into Hannibal. He made a grunt of surprise, whirling around, eyes wide before scrambling away.

Hannibal was almost tempted to charge at him, to swing him up into his arms on impulse, just to see what the child would do. William pressed against the wall, dropping to his knees, his entire body trembling as though in fear. 

'He looks like he's gonna shit his pants again. I'd stay back,' was Jack's eloquent pronouncement. 

Hannibal sniffed. 'He's frightened of strangers, of course. We are all alien beings to him. I'd wager most of his experiences of others, human or otherwise, have been unpleasant. He remembers this, or at least his body does, instigating the age-old fight-or-flight response.'

'Does he need another tranq to calm him down?'

'No, I do not think that measure is necessary on this occasion. Perhaps this situation would be less intimidating to young William if only one of us remained in the room.'

'Alright, I got it, doc. If you're sure you can handle him by yourself... Remember, he bites, but there's an emergency button by the door.'

'Yes, I am familiar with the safety precautions.'

Jack seemed all too eager to get a break from the toxic odor and tense atmosphere of the room. He left quickly, loosening his tie with a sigh of relief.

'Time for some goddamn coffee. Price! Zeller! Where the hell are they when I need them?' he muttered to himself.

+

Hannibal took a slow, careful step forward to where the boy crouched, shaking like a leaf. He was so small, fine-boned and only four-and-a-half tall, seeming even more insubstantial squatting and curled up on himself. 

Hannibal examined him with a critical eye; William's flesh was moist and succulent, where it should, by all accounts, have been bone-dry and paper-thin. It was covered with scars and bruises of varying sizes and colors, and despite exposure to all elements, was so pale and unpigmented that one could see the fine tracery of blue-green veins and lavender arteries, the lean muscles clustered beneath his skin. One side of his face, above a high cheekbone, was creased from where it had pressed against a pillow all night long, the first pillow he had likely laid his head upon in years. 

He watched, fascinated, as the boy's eyes suddenly watered, swimming with tears. How unusual for a feral child to cry, and with a sound! William himself seemed startled, touching one grimy little finger to his eye, then examined his glistening fingertip with something like wonder. Curiously, like a kitten, he licked his finger, wrinkling his nose at the subtle salt tang. 

Hannibal was astonished to feel a welling of affection within himself for the strange creature, so surprised by the simple act of crying. Absurdly, he wished to take the boy into his arms and kiss away his tears – a sentiment unprecedented in one who prided himself on his unflappable, at times coldblooded, serenity.

Ever so cautiously, so as not to startle William, he reached out and gently laid his hand on his curved spine, bent at a nasty convex angle that would have to be righted sooner rather than later, so that the boy did not become a hunchback. He flinched at the touch, but remarkably did not pull away, his eyes glancing over to Hannibal warily, without meeting his gaze, which instead darted over his body. 

William's mouth looked like an open wound, his lips ripe and red, open and dripping with salvia. Hannibal instinctively covered his mouth with a gloved hand. The sooner the child learned such behaviour was inappropriate, the better, he reasoned. William tried to turn around in his grasp, eyes nearly crossing as he looked at the thing obstructing his mouth, before directly meeting Hannibal's gaze. 

Suddenly, the boy stomped with his bare feet, kicking one upwards that was swiftly blocked by Hannibal. No child would get the better of him, feral or no, but he was amused by his efforts. William's head shook as he collapsed in his arms, surrendering to the fearsome creature's greater will and power. 

Feeling potent with near-supernatural strength, Hannibal snatched up the boy, folding him close against his chest, sensing the pounding of his heart through delicate layers of flesh and bone. He felt a sudden sharp sting in his right thumb. William had bitten through his calfskin glove, puncturing the pad of his finger with his teeth. The inside of his glove was damp with blood and spit. He hoisted the boy higher in his arms, turning to see his face, and William grinned at him gleefully, his fanged teeth bright with blood. 

'Little monster,' murmured Hannibal, and his voice was terrible in its tenderness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update, on time! Domestic, family-man Hannibal cracks me up, but in the next chapter his worlds will collide when Alana comes to visit Will, just as planned.
> 
> Hannibal calls Abigail 'liebchen' in this, which means 'sweetheart' in German. I know neither the character nor actor is German, but I feel like it kind of suits the way I imagine Hannibal's personality.
> 
> As always, enjoy, and comments and kudos are much appreciated!

'You're late.' Alana stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, an annoyed expression on her face. Hannibal pulled her into his arms and kissed her pout away. When he released her, she was smiling despite herself, affection evident in her deep blue eyes. 

'Ok, ok, Casanova. You could have called, but I guess you've been all wrapped up with that wild child.' A touch shyly, she said: 'I made salmon fillet and creamed polenta out of your rolodex of secret recipes.' 

'My sincerest apologies, Alana. I was, as you say, distracted by William Graham, a most interesting case.' He was amused by her attempt to please him with a homecooked meal; Alana's gifts did not lie in the domestic realm, so on weekdays they relied on a young housekeeper named Miriam, trained in French cuisine, and on the weekends Hannibal enjoyed creating his own confections for his family. 

'Dinner smells delectable.'

His wife laughed charmingly. 'I tried, but I don't claim to be able to out-cook Miriam. How about a beer after a hard day at work?'

Hannibal could smell the hops on her breath and knew she'd been tippling a touch whilst cooking. 

'No thank you, a glass of wine will do. Where's Abigail?' 

'She's in the living room, watching a movie.'

'Oh?'

'One of the Marvel superhero films.'

Hannibal went to investigate for himself. He preferred the darkness of the Nolan Batman cycle himself to the garishness of the Marvel franchise. 

Abigail was curled up on the golden brocade couch, her hair in pigtails, watching a blond bearded man in pseudo-Viking dress wave a hammer around onscreen.

'Papa!' she cried, reaching up for a hug. He sat beside her, stroking her sleek plaits, pausing the DVD. 

'How is my little _liebchen_ tonight?'

'Fine, but you came home awful late, Papa. Mommy's making dinner even though she's not very good at it. What's that on your thumb?' she asked, sharp eyes narrowing in on his bandaged thumb. 

'One of my patients bit me, and although it is only a small cut, Jack Crawford insisted my hand be disinfected and bandaged. Quite the overreaction.'

'Who bit you?' Abigail demanded, eyes wide at the thought of someone brazen enough to hurt her father. She was not aware that the ugly emotion she felt was something akin to jealousy, at some other child marking her papa and claiming him as their own. 

'A little boy only a few years older than yourself. We believe he has survived for many years by himself in the woods of Virginia, and as a result he is more animal than child.'

Abigail frowned. She hated this unknown boy already, sensing him to be a potential rival in the affections of her father.

'Why didn't he get eaten and die?'

Hannibal laughed, tugging fondly on a pigtail. 

'I'm sure many predators tried their best, but someone he managed to avoid being made into a meal for a black bear or bobcat.'

'Dinnertime!' called Alana. 'Remember to wash your hands, Abigail.'

Her daughter rolled her eyes. 'I've only been washing my hands before meals everyday of my entire life,' she muttered, but acquiesced.

Hannibal proclaimed the meal 'divine' (in truth, it was passable, if not up to his own standards), and raised a glass of Chardonnay to his beaming wife. 

'Next time can we have lobster mac 'n' cheese?' asked Abigail, whose palette was a mix of her father's rarified taste and her mother's preference for comfort food.

'Maybe if you're good,' said Alana with a wink. 

+

Later, after Abigail had grudgingly gone to bed – 'Just because I'm nine doesn't mean my bedtime has to be at nine!', Hannibal turned on the radio, to the jazz station Alana favored, and he found tolerable. He dimmed the lights in the living room while Alana put the dishes in the kitchen, lighting the candles on the mantlepiece, giving the room a soft, white-golden glow. 

'Dare I ask what the big occasion is?' she asked as she entered the room, cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

'Does a man need a special occasion to dance with his wife?' returned Hannibal, drawing her into his arms for a smooth waltz. Alana was slightly clumsy but followed his lead well, turning to a slow dance. 

'This is great. You're so sweet,' she said, dreamily, a touch teasing. Hannibal automatically repressed his wince at being called 'sweet'. She lay her head on his shoulder, lax in his arms. 

'You excel in every pursuit, and I can not help thinking how much William Graham would benefit from your own expertise.'

She lifted her head, looking at him quizzically. 'Would Jack be ok with that? Or Chilton, given you've already crashed his monopoly on the kid?'

'It was Jack who suggested it. He thought the boy would profit from a female touch, as it were. I hold Beverly Katz in the highest esteem, but she is somewhat lacking in the maternal affect.'

'Oh, I see, it's not my psychiatric expertise you need, but my motherly touch, is that it?'

'I would never reduce you to a gender stereotype, but nevertheless I feel William Graham would be more at ease in your presence, and you may offer insights into his psyche I could not envision.'

Alana smiled up at him, flattered. 

'Alright, I'll come with you tomorrow. I have to admit, I'm curious to see this feral child for myself. Not just anyone can bite the great Hannibal Lecter and get away with it.'

'I believe it has been established that you are one of the few.' Hannibal drew her closer, rocking their bodies together, but his mind was miles away, lost in careful calculation.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess who's been feeling inspired? Although this is mostly a weirdo dream of Hannibal's involving Will cross dressing (nope, don't know how that happened), and then another example of Freddie's Pulizer-prize-winning journalism. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated :D

+

_Moonlight streamed through the windows of the master bedroom as Hannibal dreamt, Alana fast asleep at his side._

_He dreamt of the boy, clinging to the windowsill, hardly able to peep over the edge. William swayed back and forth on the ledge like a monkey, at ease scaling trees and walls, gazing at Hannibal slumbering in bed. Then he was inside the room, unspeakably perfect, fey yet haunting in his humanity. His small penis jutted from his pelvis, erect._

_Then they were no longer in Hannibal's bedroom. The still silence of the night was broken by the grating sound of Abigail's dresser drawers being opened. William grunted and breathed laboriously, but Abigail slept like the dead._

_First he removed a pair of underwear from the top drawer, demure white with a pink bow. Awkwardly, the boy tried to thrust his foot through one leg hole, hobbling and shaking as if in danger of toppling over. He placed the underwear on a chair, stumbling back to the dresser to pull out a pair of white knee socks, then a dress. Holding the underwear before him, he put one foot through a leg hole, jumping around, trying to steady himself. Hannibal smiled in his sleep at the amusing sight._

_Finally William dropped the panties on the floor, arranging them in order to put both feet in at once, laboring for a time before success. Standing and stooping down, he tugged Abigail's underwear on, pulling them up to his waist. They were too tiny for him, straining at his hips and tight around his thighs, abrading his sensitive foreskin, squeezing his small pink testes._

_Despite the uncomfortable cutting of the elastic, the boy's face was a picture of ecstasy. The dress he'd picked was Abigail's favorite, red with green and blue polka dots. Hannibal personally considered it a bit tasteless, but Alana's mother had bought it for her, so he had relented. William clasped it to his slender chest, delighted, before donning it. Unlike the underwear, it was voluminous and easy to pull over his head, the buttons marching down the bodice more for decoration than functionality. He smiled as he touched the full folds of the skirt, brushing against his knees. Standing in front of a full-length mirror, he crushed his sweaty palms against the glass, scrutinizing his reflection intently._

_Forgoing the white socks, William took Abigail's patent-leather Mary-Jane's out of the closet. They were much too small for his feet but he forced them in through sheer will, but when he attempted to walk, he tumbled to the floor. He glared at his feet, upset. Disheartened, he removed the shoes, gazing at his reflection once more before stripping off the clothes, moving cautiously, as if unwilling._

+

Hannibal abruptly awoke, heart caught in his throat. He stared up at the ceiling as one mesmerized. What a bizarre dream, and the second of late revolving around one William Graham. This one, however, was disturbingly different – involving the boy sneaking into his house, into his daughter's bedroom, where he had begun putting on her clothes, her decidedly feminine clothes. 

While Hannibal had the necessary introspection of a psychiatrist, he generally did not go in for Jungian dream interpretation, but this was too much to let slip back into his subconsciousness. In just two visits, he had evidently formed an attachment to William, with shades of a paternal fantasy – the boy in the clothing of his daughter – and perhaps a slight erotic fixation, although he had never before found men, much less pubescent boys, sexually appealing.

Hannibal did not condemn himself for forming an inappropriate bond with the child, bordering on obsession with one socially undeveloped and mute, as well as under his professional care. He had realized he was amoral when he himself was but a child, thinking thoughts and committing actions society would deem perverse and antisocial, and so he had learned to perfect his erudite, charming person-suit long ago.

But to have his subliminal desires surface while asleep only confirmed his intention to bring William into his home, where he would be completely under his own control and surveillance.

+

The next morning's Tattler blared FIRST GLIMPSE OF 'WILD CHILD' IN TWO WEEKS!, together with an impressively-Photoshopped picture of a crouched child who may or may not have been William Graham, being excessively hairy and filthy to the point of defying identification.

_We at the Tattler accessed exclusive pictures of the part-child, part-animal creature in captivity, now known to be notorious cannibal serial killer Garret Jacob Graham's son, William Graham. First discovered in the hellish humidity of Wolf Trapp, Virginia on August 14, Graham junior looks more like a skinned monkey than a deprived child, no doubt mutated from his years alone in the wild, where he ate insects and raw animals for food. He's reported to be four feet tall, with mental disability, skin covered with scars as if he had been repeatedly beaten with a stick before he escaped his family's fate of being burned alive. According to the eminent child psychiatrist and head of the Rehabilitation Center for Children where William currently resides, Dr. Frederick Chilton, the boy arrived lopsided, naked yet surprising not disfigured as most feral children are. Apparently Willy has a tendency to run on all fours, as when he stands upright he leans from side to side, but he's fast runner, often leading his nurses on a wild chase through the compound, dashing as though trying to escape the institution. The wild child loves nothing more than dairy products, like milk, cheese, yogurt and ice cream, and steals it from the other residents every mealtime. He also likes sleeping under the bed, where apparently he feels safe and unexposed in a dark, cave-like environment. From his close study of William Graham and extensive experience of other feral child cases, Dr. Chilton claims that he is unique: “he's an indefinable creature, almost like a small-scale primate in behavior. I don't think it's a stretch to say he may be the missing link in our ancestor's evolution from primitive nature to modern civilized society.” Remember, Tattlers, you read it here first! Don't forget to follow Freddie Lounds for the latest on All Things Non-Normal!_

+


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! So Will and Alana meet, and Hannibal better be careful because even wee!wild!Will thinks Alana is something special. Oh Jack, always playing right into Hannibal's plans...
> 
> Feed me feedback please.

William clutched at Alana, grasping at her wine-colored pencil skirt and long legs. 

'Hey! Will! Not appropriate!' barked Jack, as if the boy understood his words, although he likely comprehended the thrust of them. 

'It's fine,' Alana murmured, reaching down cautiously as Hannibal watched her interaction with interest. Poor little soul, she thought. A sterile, cold institution was the least nurturing environment she could imagine, though Jack's team did their best. And so very different from life alone in the forest. 

She agreed with her husband: the only way such a deprived, debilitated child could be reintegrated into society was with the help of both tender care and professional expertise, in as 'normal' and healthy surroundings as possible. Perhaps an experienced, therapeutic foster home was the answer...

William had stood stock still the moment Alana entered his room, ignoring the familiar presences of Jack and Hannibal. His eyes were wide, as though a fawn caught in headlights, gazing at her intently. When she drew closer to him, with careful movements and soft, soothing noises, the spell was broken; he fled from her as much as he could given the room's small dimensions. He seemed to be limping, hobbling as though he had been hurt, but there was no visible injury, no blood. 

'Does he always run like that?' she asked, brows furrowed in concern. 

'William neither walks nor runs completely evenly and upright, but I believe the agitation caused by a new individual aggravates his unsteadiness,' answered Hannibal, his smooth expression revealing nothing of the excitement and slight envy he felt at the boy's reaction to his wife. That she was a beautiful woman was no doubt, but to have caused such a strong response with her very presence... It was something worth further study, carefully controlled by himself, of course. 

'It's so tragic,' murmured Alana, unaware she was speaking her thoughts aloud. Jack looked discomfited by her display of raw emotion. William Graham reminded her of nothing so much as a small, stricken rabbit, so vulnerable, distracted and disturbed by their presence in his territory. But this bunny had a bite – she could see the glint of determination in his beautiful blue eyes, as if he knew himself to be someone of great significance to the strange, towering creatures always watching him. 

'I just can't believe no one reported a missing child. Someone, neighbors, must have seen him at some point and thought something was not right. I just don't understand why no one followed it up!' Alana's voice shook with frustration at the apathy of society at large.

'There were no records that he'd ever existed, only unconfirmed rumors. He may as well have been a wraith –'

'An urban legend, a neighborhood spook. Anyway, DC police have bigger fish to fry than checking up on some suburbanite's hunch about the people next door,' interjected Jack. 

Hannibal continued as if he had never been interrupted. 

'A child without an identity is the perfect runaway, and in another age, even at the turn-of-the previous century he might have lived and died in nature, leaving behind no trace.'

'Heaven only knows what he's been through, having spent his formative years in a house with Garret Jacob Graham,' said Alana, as she carefully took a seat on the boy's small twin bed, beside which William crouched, body tensed for flight. 

+

This close, she saw that he'd torn the stitching of his jumpsuit, threads dangling and excess fabric unfurled, drowning his body in ugly coarse material. She suddenly wanted to do nothing more than take him into her arms, although rationally she knew any movement or contact on her part would make him recoil. 

Hannibal observed them, thinking of all the articles he'd written on stunted development, of the feral child case studies he'd read; nothing was as sublime as orchestrating this scene, and those that were to follow. 

Jack watched also, thinking of the children he and Bella had never had, of how Alana was as good a mother as she was a psychiatrist, of the flawless home she and Hannibal had forged together, for themselves and for Abigail... 

Maybe, though it was strictly unorthodox, even questionable, they would be the best fit for William, maybe that was what the kid needed, not hour-long visits and Chilton's sneering denunciations to the press, but a home that any child would kill to have, one that could not be more ideal for this strange situation. 

The sunlight streamed through the single window, and William raised his face to it, no longer cowering in the shadows. The light illuminated his frame through his clothes, his bones painfully sharp beneath the skin, although his small stomach was bloated from the sudden increase of his diet.

Alana looked at him and saw the product of illegal activity, of immorality, abuse and cruelty. Jack saw a hugely developmentally-disabled kid, but not one without hope. Hannibal looked at the boy with an unfathomable hunger in his eyes. 

William himself seemed no longer suffused with fear of his visitors, of Alana, instead he looked almost intrigued, but inactive, even submissive. He suddenly gesticulated, moving towards her, then stopped, grasping for something on the ground. A bobby pin that had fallen from Alana's hair, unnoticed. The small sliver of metal fell through his clumsy fingers, groping as he tried to pick it up. 

The room was quiet and still, as all the adults in the room watched William. He attempted again, focusing on the dexterity of his fingers. Finally gripping the pin, he stood and extended it to Alana, for the first time meeting her eyes directly, without looking away. 

Jack broke the stunned silence with a cough. 'Alana, Hannibal, if you'd like to join me in my office afterwards, I have something important to discuss with you about an alternative strategy for William here.'

'Of course, we would be delighted,' replied Hannibal evenly. 

Alana eyes burned like blue flames. 

'I'm sure there's plenty for us to discuss.'

+


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys, I got caught up binge watching Orange is the New Black, which is my current favorite show alongside Hannibal. Someone should write a cracky crossover someday. Piper and Will could bond over being screwed over by their respective sociopathic significant others, amiright?

Hannibal was somewhat astonished at the speed at which William was released into his and Alana's care; Jack had expedited the process to minimum required paperwork, essentially rubber-stamping them. Even Chilton refrained from kicking up to much of a fuss as young Abel Gideon, minus a limb, had recently rejoined the Rehabilitation Center for Children. His only comment on the matter was:

'I hope you know what you're signing up for with this one, Alana.'

She gave him a look that could freeze water. 

'I assure you that Hannibal and myself are fully aware of what committing to being William Graham's primary caretaker entails, and that we are fully capable of fulfilling our responsibilities to him.'

Chilton gave a smug laugh. 'Oh, of course I would never question your competence in dealing with such an unfortunate case. I only meant to say that I would not wish the guardianship of that wild animal on my worst enemy, but I'm sure the two of you will prove equal to the task.'

Alana stiffened, and only Hannibal's soothing touch kept her from lashing out. Jack coughed in an attempt to defuse the tension.

'Right, I think that's enough for now. Time to get this show on the road.'

+

William hadn't struggled or attempted to run away until they tried to buckle his seat belt in Hannibal's burgundy Beamer. He bucked and bit and kicked and spit until Hannibal pulled an old sweater of his over the boy's head, subduing him for a moment in cashmere darkness.  
'Are you sure you don't want the straitjacket?' asked Jack, watching the struggle. 

'No,' grunted Alana as she clicked William's seatbelt in, fastening it securely. 'I think we're ok now.'

'Ok. Call me if there's any problems or changes in his behavior. We'll see you soon for his check-up.'

Jack didn't know whether to give Hannibal a handshake and Alana a hug, so instead he awkwardly tipped his fedora to them both. 

'Good luck. You'll be needing it.'

Alana climbed in the back with William to keep an eye on him as Hannibal drove them home, but the boy was no longer fussing. Instead, he was entirely absorbed in nosing at the thick, soft navy blue sweater, patterned with a row of deer and knitted triangles. It had been an appallingly expensive and unattractive Christmas present from one of the grateful parents of Hannibal's patients, Mrs Froideveaux, if he recalled correctly, which he'd never worn and considered giving away to charity until it occurred to him it might appeal to William in terms of texture. He had dabbed it lightly with his signature cologne, with notes of old leather-bound books, musk and the slight salt tang of blood. 

Alana watched William's nose wrinkle as he rubbed the sweater against his cheeks, a soft smile on her face. 

'How did you know that would calm him?' 

'I didn't, although he's shown previous interest in soft materials I've worn. Likewise, immersing him in darkness by covering his eyes seems to calm him considerably when agitated or afraid.'

'Well, it looks like you won't be getting that sweater back anytime soon.'

William had smeared his nose on one sleeve, and was sucking on the end of other, dangling beyond his hands and swamping his body, slipping off one bony shoulder. Alana fished his slobbery little paw out of the sleeve and held it in her own, ignoring the strings of salvia webbing his fingers. He let her hold his hand without a fight, merely sticking the other cloth-covered thumb in his mouth, sucking contently, eyelashes fluttering. 

Hannibal glanced in the rearview mirror from time to time, watching his wife and foundling son with a swelling of some prideful possession in his heart. Mine, he felt, the dark creature preening inside his skin. My family.

'I think Will's sleeping,' said Alana, hushed with something like awe. Like all sleeping children, he made an angelic picture, but there was a greater mystery in his doze, dreaming not like others his age, but of woods and foraging and fighting, flashing teeth and claws. A life concealed from human eyes, a world Hannibal could not begin to comprehend.

'Will? Is that what we are calling him?' asked Hannibal, shattering his romantic reverie to concentrate on driving. 

Alana laughed. 'I know how you feel about nicknames, Hannibal, but you have to admit it suits him. 'William' is too long, too mature, too formal. It makes me think of an old man, or a prince. Will is unpretentious and short, and kind of cute.'

'I doubt he cares what we call him either way, but in this I will surrender to you. I admit, 'Will' is more pleasant on the tongue than 'Abby' or 'Ally'.'

'Alright, Hanni, I'm glad you agree with me.'

'Don't press your luck, Alana Bloom-Lecter.'

+


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus starts the saga of Will at home with the Lecter-Blooms. Little Abigail is going to be less than pleased with this development. 
> 
> Thanks for all your kudos/comments/bookmarks, guys! I love you all, and will reply to the lovely comments when I'm done being a lazy good-for-nothing. Enjoy reading!

Will anxiously fingered the walls of each room in the Lecter-Bloom household. Hannibal suppressed a grimace as the boy's sticky, unsanitary hands traced leather-bound first-editions of Alexandre Dumas, père and William Makepeace Thackeray. 

'We're going to have to Will-proof this house,' commented Alana, watching them both with an amused expression on her face. 

'I think I'll take him to the kitchen for some hot milk. Please inform Miriam of the new addition to our family, and be sure to tell her to say nothing of the matter to Abigail. We shall introduce Will to her ourselves.'

'I don't know how she's going to take it. She's always been such a little Daddy's girl.' Alana sounded wistful, having long ago recognized that her husband took pride of place in her daughter's heart. 

'It is time for her to learn that no-one can have everything one wishes for in life,' said Hannibal, smirking at his own triteness. No-one, except for himself, of course. 

+

He took the boy in hand, slightly repulsed by his sogginess of his palm, beneath which was fine flesh and slim bone. Will did not resist being pulled along, clinging slightly to Hannibal, a familiar sight and smell amidst so many new bewildering ones. 

In the kitchen, Hannibal's state-of-the-art pride and joy, Will was picked up and placed on a barstool by the island that resembled a high-chair, so that Hannibal could keep a close eye on him. Immediately the boy slumped over the counter, uncomfortable at being forced to sit up straight, and made a plaintive whine. Hannibal ignored him; manners would have to be amongst first social niceties instilled in the boy. 

He retrieved an old baby bottle of Abigail's (Alana had disliked breast-feeding from the first), mixing the small pot of milk with an infant formula of his own design, flavored with a touch of vanilla extract. Will scratched at the marble counter surface restlessly, kicking against it before sullenly sticking his wrinkled right thumb in his mouth, sucking it to soothe himself. 

Despite himself, Hannibal found his unhygienic habit endearing and somewhat arousing, having a bit of an oral fixation of his own, stemming from childhood. He tasted the milk, finding it warm, creamy and mildly sweet, and poured it into the glass bottle, stoppering it with a clean rubber nipple. 

Will watched him, eyes alight with interest, sensing food forthcoming. He snatched the bottle out of Hannibal's hand, suckling at it greedily while keeping an eye on Hannibal so as to ensure he did not threaten his meal. The boy's behavior was appalling, but given the circumstances in which his egocentric, animalistic instincts enabled him to survive, Hannibal was willing to be lenient for the time being. 

The milk was gulped down so urgently that Will's sharp teeth caught and tore the rubber nipple, causing the remainder to spill down the front of Hannibal's ugly, expensive sweater. He whimpered at the sudden soaking, while Hannibal rolled his eyes in exasperation. He mopped up the mess before lifting Will out of his chair – keeping him firmly in hand – taking him to the downstairs guest bathroom, as lavish as any upstairs. 

He heard Alana speaking to one of her friends on the phone in the living room. '– you just wouldn't believe what this kid has been through. It just makes me sick to think about it, and I'm not sure being in Chilton's care was much better, to be honest. I'm glad he's home with me and Hannibal, although I can see it's going to be difficult, fostering him...'

Will strained against his hold, trying to follow the sound of her voice. 

'No, Will. I am afraid you are in desperate need of a bath, one which I plan to administer immediately.' Will made a move to bite his arm, but Hannibal caught him up in his arms, pinning his limbs with iron-bar force. 

+

In the green-and-marble bathroom, Hannibal locked the door and placed his willful captive on the plush toilet seat cover while he ran the bath water, ensuring it was neither too hot nor cold, although the boy seemed impervious to extremes of temperature. He turned around to find the boy had left his seat to inspect his own reflection in the large gold-framed mirror.

It was a fascinating scene to observe: the boy seemed utterly unaware that the face looking back at him was his own, at first watching it without moving, mouth agape, eyes wide. He then proceeded to make a variety of grotesque faces at it, as if to scare it away. Upset that the visage did not disappear and even seem to be mocking him by making faces itself, he slammed his fist against the glass. Fortunately, it was sturdy enough not to shatter on impact, but seeing his violence mimicked by the figure, Will with a hoarse cry attempted to rip the mirror off the wall to get at the maddening face behind it. 

Hannibal pried him away from attempting to damage the Venetian looking-glass, and clinically stripped him bare of his clothes, which were sodden with pubescent male perspiration, saliva and milk, an odoriferous combination. Clasping the boy in his arms evoked the memory of holding his sister, Misha, as a child, of holding his own daughter when she was very young – nothing but fragile bone, so easily broken. Will's joints seemed concave, bones grating against one another. He felt as if he weighed nothing, as though he were empty inside, or made of cinders, or dust. He lifted Will to dip his toes in the bath water, but the boy fought him, howling with distress, feet splashing water to puddle on the marble floor, seeping through the knees of Hannibal's bespoke trousers. 

Enough was enough. He immersed the squealing boy into the tub, soaking a great deal more of his clothes, but Will seemed to calm instantly in the water, delighting in the sensation of weightlessness and warmth. He sloshed and played in the bath like an infant, hitting the surface, kicking and whirling the water around him in circles. He slid against the tub bottom, laughing with pleasure instead of fear as Hannibal glided French-milled lavender soap against his skin. 

Will's awareness was centered elsewhere, striking at the surface of the bath, propelling ring after ring of ripples. He was unable to ignore Hannibal washing him in ticklish and sensitive areas such as his feet, groin and armpits, squirming as though unsure whether to cling closer or push him away. 

The water chilled, becoming an unpleasant temperature, slippery to the touch due to the film of soap. Hannibal turned the hot tap on to watch Will's reaction; the boy placed his palm under the running water, turning his skin bright red and vaporizing in the air around him. Yet he did not wince or shrink from the boiling water, but continued to hold his hand beneath the spout as if it were mild. Will was not in pain, but beaming. He was entirely insensitive to the heat, much like Victor, the legendary Wild Boy of Averyon, had been when first caught. 

Slowly, Hannibal turned the water off. Will gave a snarl, his amusement taken away. Hannibal ignored him, reaching to unplug and drain the tub. He forced Will to stand, holding him steady, wrapping a thick, soft towel around his shoulders before hoisting him out of the tub. Hannibal rubbed him dry gently, the boy standing passive and compliant on the green rug. 

Once he was only damp, Hannibal had him lie down on another towel, Will watching him curiously as he reached for almond oil and Crème de La Mer. The bath had made the boy pliant and drowsy; he lay there calmly as Hannibal massaged his skin with the moisturizers, in the hopes that they might permeate his flesh; soften and protect it, smooth the scars and flakes away and soothe any swelling. 

By the end of his ministrations, Will's skin was dewy and luminous, from his temples to his toes. His penis had been erect since Hannibal stroked his lumbar region, but the boy appeared to be more asleep than aware of his arousal. Flooded with fondness, Hannibal drew the sweet-smelling, tousle-curled child to his chest, and carried him to bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't think I was going to write anything today due to a nasty racist comment posted on one of my other fics involving a character of color, but I decided fuck that, I'm not gonna let some intolerant anon get me down. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are much appreciated.

Will had clutched the sweater to his chest before Hannibal picked him up in the bathroom. Hannibal, amused that the ugly, soiled sweater had become a kind of security blanket, allowed him to nuzzle it for comfort when he was dressed in a pair of Abigail's pajamas that had always been too large for her, and so had languished, unworn, in her closet. 

Will was too tired to protest to wearing the constricting pajama bottoms, willingly tucked into the bed in the Rococo-blue guest bedroom, dwarfed by the expanse of mattress and sheets. In a moment he was asleep, breathing deeply curled in a fetal position, fists upflung on the downy pillow. 

Hannibal would have been content to watch him sleep for hours, but the door creaked open behind him, disturbing his scrutiny. Alana came to stand beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they watched the boy awaken, as if subliminally sensing the presence of another in the room, even when asleep. 

Will's eyes opened, but he didn't move, unalarmed; he merely quietly stared at them, with a look of interest. 

'Go back to sleep, Will. I'm sorry I woke you up,' murmured Alana softly. She bent over the bed as if she wished to kiss his forehead, but refrained, only carding her hand through his damp curls. His eyes closed at her touch, again submerged in slumber. 

They crept out of his room, turning out the light and closing the door quietly. 

+

'I've never met anyone like him before, in all my years of experience. I just – I'm haunted by the image of him imprisoned at home, during his formative years, then escaping to live like a wild animal, then being caught and confined again – what a nightmare!' 

Alana's voice shook, impassioned, as they went downstairs to the kitchen. 

Hannibal thought of the first time he'd seen Will, how he'd groaned and cried querulously, whimpering with equal defiance and fear, shrinking away from him. How difficult it had been to hold his gaze directly. 

' – he's so skinny and fragile, it's heart-wrenching. We have to try to feed him up, slowly and carefully, of course,' continued his wife, thoughts also revolving around the boy upstairs. She grasped Hannibal's hand, looking up at him earnestly. 

'I have to admit, I had my doubts when you told me about him, but I'm so thankful now that we're his foster home, and that he isn't staying in Chilton's hospital, in that enclosed little room...'

Hannibal pulled her into a tender kiss. He was skilled at instigating displays of affection, sparingly enough that Alana felt it was a reward, a special treat from her loving but impassive husband. 

They moved apart as the back door was unlocked by Miriam, despite Abigail's cries of 'Let me do it! I wanna unlock it!' She forgot about this desire as soon as the door opened to reveal her parents. 

'Papa! Mommy!' She jumped into Hannibal's arms for a hug before being handed to her mother. 

'Hello, Miriam, pleasure to see you.'

The blond young woman merely nodded at his greeting, eyes as inscrutable ever. Once, Miriam had been an earnest, ambitious student, but an mysterious event occurred which prevented her from returning to the halls of academia. She turned to child-caring and house-keeping for the elite of Baltimore society, activities in which she excelled, but her eyes were dulled and her smile flat. She was considered an enigma by most of her employers, but Hannibal had little interest in unraveling her life story.

'Thanks so much for carting Abigail around to all her activities, I can't tell you how much we appreciate it,' gushed Alana. 

'It's no trouble,' said Miriam stiffly. 'There is lentil sou on the stove and sourdough bread. I'm sorry I didn't have time to make something more substantial.'

'I'm sure it will be delicious,' said Hannibal, as eager for her departure as she was herself. 

'Good-night,' said Miriam, shutting the door behind her.

+

'She's so weird,' commented Abigail, giggling. 

'Don't be rude, honey,' scolded Alana. 'She's a wonderful help and very nice to you.'

Abigail rolled her eyes. 'I know. She's still weird though.'

'How was ballet?' asked Hannibal. Abigail's extracurricular activities were numerous; she did gymnastics, swam, played tennis, danced, sang in a choir, rode and took piano lessons, ferried to and fro by Miriam as both her parents worked weekdays.

'Boring. I like horse-back riding better. Papa, can I get a pony?'

'I don't know about a pony, sweetheart, but what about something else, like another addition to our family?' 

Hannibal smirked at Alana's lack of subtlety. 

'What, you mean like a dog, or a cat?' asked Abigail, brows furrowed. 'I'd rather have a pony.'

'No, baby, I meant like a brother or sister. What do you think about that?'

Abigail looked dubious at the thought. 'I don't think so. I like being the only one, and I don't like sharing my toys.'

Alana and Hannibal shared a look, both amused and dismayed. 

'Abigail, what your mother means to say is that we have brought a patient of mine home, to be fostered by us. He is a boy only a few years older than yourself, has had a very traumatic childhood, and is in need of our intensive therapeutic care. I know this comes as a shock to you, but this is a very severe unsocialized case, and I trust that you will help your mother and I in treating him as a member of our family.'

'His name is Will, and while his behavior might seem – strange to you, he's just not used to being around people and doesn't always know how to act normally, or communicate verbally, so we need to help him with that, ok?' added Alana.

For a moment the little girl was silent, eyes flashing with anger before a look of sly calculation passed over her face. Despite himself, Hannibal was proud of her cunning, chameleon-like nature, inherited from himself. Abigail smiled sweetly. 

'Ok, I'll be a good sister to Will. But I want my pony in return.'

Alana sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. 

'We'll see, ok?'

Hannibal didn't say anything. Despite his ease at lying, he would not promise his daughter something he had no intention in giving her. But she needn't know that, now.

+


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this bad tendency to spend a lot of time writing small scenes without really propelling the plot forward. What can I say. Hope you guys enjoy, and thanks for the comments and kudos!
> 
> On another note, I'm looking for a piece of Hannigram fan art that sort of shaped the way I envision Hannibal and Will in this fic. As I don't have a tumblr, I tend to lose track of works I really love and can't find again... It was essentially black-and-white, except for blue accents on Will and red on Hannibal. Will was drawn as a nervous-looking child with glasses and a deer-patterned blue sweater; an adult Hannibal held his hand, wore a white lab coat, and had a kind of sinister smile. 
> 
> If this rings any bells, please let me know!

+

'Can I see him? I wanna meet him,' said Abigail. 'Where is he?'

'Honey, he's already asleep, in bed. I don't think we should disturb him right now. He's had a very exhausting day, with a lot of big changes. But you'll met him tomorrow, ok?' Amongst Alana's many talents was that of placating people, having nine years of practice in pacifying her daughter. 

Abigail's mouth pouted in a moue of disappointment. 'But I wanna meet him now! I don't want to wait til morning!' she whined.

'I'm afraid you must be patient, Abigail,' said Hannibal firmly. 

'How about you tell Mommy and Daddy all about your day?' Alana cut in brightly. 'How about some ice cream after dinner?'

'Ok. I want mint-chocolate chip with Thin Mints on top,' commanded Abigail, her new foster brother forgotten for the moment. 

Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine. Had it only been mere days ago when he'd delighted in hearing of his daughter's exploits, charmed by her ripping out her own baby tooth? He'd adored spending long hours with her as a toddler, attentively noting her first smile, first step, first word – 'Papa', of course. Watching her discover herself, and master the world around her, transforming her thoughts into discourse, had been a revelation. 

Never did he consider that one day her eternal chatter and demanding presence might come to annoy him.

+

' – and then Marissa had to go to the bathroom in the middle of practice and Madame got mad at her and she started crying. Papa! Are you even listening to me?'

'Of course, darling. I'm sure you have never given cause Madame Le Jeune to be angry with you, unlike your friend.'

'She's not my friend, she's a crybaby.' Still, Abigail preened at his praise. 'Can I get an American Girl doll? Only I don't want her to be one of the ones in the books, but I want one who looks like me, with my eyes and hair and matching clothes.'

'I don't know, sweetheart. I think those dolls are very expensive for what they are, but we'll see. Maybe for your birthday, ok?'

'I guess,' said Abigail dubiously. 

'I'm going to call it a night. Unfortunately, I seem to have a headache coming on.' Hannibal rose smoothly, bending to give his daughter, than wife, a kiss on the cheek. 

'Oh, I'm sorry, honey. Do you need any tea or ibuprofen?' 

'No, I believe I just need rest. Good night, Abigail.'

'Night-night. Poor Papa, I hope your head feels better.'

'Thank you, dear.'

+  
Hannibal paused in padding past Will's bedroom. He couldn't restrain himself; he cracked the door quietly, feeling absurdly like a peeping Tom. The boy was fast asleep, vulnerable in the darkness. 

Hannibal desired nothing more than to join him in bed, curl his body around Will's in animal protection. But it would not do for Alana to discover him there. He could easily feign an excuse – Will had awoken in distress, bewildered and in need of assurance – but not on this first night. There would be time aplenty for cradling the boy in his arms, for soothing his fears, for insinuating himself inside his mind and body...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby-boo meets Willy-poo! Hannibal would probably cut off my finger for typing that.
> 
> But yeah, enjoy reading, and thanks for your wonderful kudos and comments!

+

Hannibal snapped awake at the sound of someone moving around downstairs. His first thought was of an intruder, bloodlust heightened at the thought of protecting his homestead from a foolhardy trespasser. But no, likely the disturbance was caused by their restless guest, awake, hungry and curious, now no longer bound to one small room. 

He slid out of bed smoothly, without disrupting Alana, pulled on his thick dark blue dressing gown and stole downstairs. 

Will had discarded his borrowed sleep pants, the pajama top only just covering his groin. He was fist-deep in a jar of Nutella – the vile, too-sweet condiment Hannibal abhorred, but which Abigail insisted on consuming despite his efforts to make a healthier and more refined homemade chocolate-hazelnut spread. 

The boy started at Hannibal's entry into the kitchen, but did not seek to escape, content with licking the chocolate sludge off his fingers, in the process managing to smear his cheeks and chin, as well as all over the granite counter.

Shameless child. Hannibal felt the urge to turn him over his knee, but restrained himself. It was 6 am, Will had fallen asleep some twelve hours before. It stood to reason he'd be hungry and alert, like any wild creature. 

Hannibal retrieved the jar from Will grasp, wincing at the stickiness. The very sickly odor itself offended his sensitive olfactory organs. The boy growled and fought him, but Hannibal restrained him with little trouble, maneuvering to the sink where he began scrubbing the gummed little fingers. Will submitted to the hand washing, evidently again transfixed by the sensation of warm water and soft floral fragrance. He attempted to resist the washcloth wiping his face, to no avail. Hannibal felt tender and benevolent, his greater power subduing such an unruly, uncivilized creature. 

Will was then planted in the bar stool used the night before, given a ripe unpeeled banana to eat whilst Hannibal heated another pan of milk. Hannibal watched him out of the corner of his eye, fascinated by the boy's teeth; even yet sharp, discoloration largely scoured away by a toothbrush, yet still so feral. He had felt the sting of Will's canines himself, still had a small score to mark where his thumb had been pierced. 

He would need regular visits to a dentist and optometrist in order to make up for years of neglect, but could perhaps forgo an orthodontist, even as his teeth and bite appeared. Will might need corrective lenses, as Hannibal had noticed how his vision wandered, darting and unable to focus, although his other senses, particularly his hearing, were sharp, likely enabling his survival. He imagined Will's sweet, heart-shaped face framed with childish glasses and his unkempt crop of curls... What an enchanting picture he'd make! 

Hannibal noticed that Will had grabbed the banana peel and was attempting to chew it in addition to the banana itself, necessitating its removal to the garbage. He hawked up a piece of the peel he'd managed to tear off, leaving a fruity glob on the counter which Hannibal swept away. He was beginning to grow desensitized to Will's unfortunate personal habits, perhaps because the idea of touching his bodily fluids was not repulsive to Hannibal, but rather the opposite. 

Hannibal poured the warm milk into the baby bottle with a thicker rubber nipple, in the hopes that it would not be so easily torn, placing it in front of Will. The boy had hoarded the remains of the banana inside his pajama sleeve, as if Hannibal were unable to discern the mashed fruit hidden inside. His mouth twitched in amusement as Will groped for the bottle while trying to keep the banana from falling out of his sleeve. 

Unable to help himself, Hannibal laughed, a very rare expression in a man so inscrutable. For a moment Will stared at him, startled, before mimicking him with a laugh of his own, lips curled, eyes wide open. His expression was so bizarre, so artificial and strained, that it provoked another burst of laughter from Hannibal.

+

'What're you doing?'

Abigail stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes crossly. 'Why're you up so early?'

'Good morning, Abigail. Come and meet William, your foster brother.'

Will stared at Abigail as she approached, hurriedly gulping the remainder of the bottle should she be after his milk. 

Abigail laughed. 'He looks so funny. Can't he talk?'

Will grunted, trembling as she neared him, in a manner that Hannibal recognized as a warning to keep her distance. 

'Don't get too close, dear, he's not used to close contact with people. He cannot talk as he has been quite isolated for much of his life, but your mother and I are working to help him communicate and grow more comfortable around others.'

As he spoke, he drew close to Will protectively, soothingly stoking his hair and the nape of his neck to calm him. 

'Why didn't he stay at the hospital with Uncle Jack?' 

Hannibal internally grimaced at the name Jack insisted she call him. 

'We decided that the most beneficial means of rehabilitating him was not in an institutional environment, but in a foster home where he can receive the close therapeutic attention he requires, and hopefully form an emotional attachment to us.'

Or rather to me, he silently amended. 

Abigail wrinkled her nose, staring at Will intently, like a predator sighting prey. 

'Did he live in a cage?'

'No, but from what we understand, he was very confined in his early life, with little or no human interaction, even with his parents, before he escaped into the woods. Remarkably, he survived alone for years, undiscovered until recently. What we must provide him with is a healthy family environment, and I need you to do your part in making him feel at home here.'

'But is he going to stay here forever?' Abigail's voice sounded desolate at the thought. 

Hannibal did not blame her for feeling less-than-welcoming, for he too was unrepentantly self-centered, but nonetheless the social scientist within him relished the meeting of his blood-born daughter and his undomesticated foster son. 

'We shall see. For the time being, this is a temporary arrangement, to be renewed in six months time should it prove profitable to Will's well being and re-adjustment into society. Only time will tell.'

Abigail sighed. She was not happy, but understood that the matter was non-negotiable, that her father stood firm for the moment.

She looked at her new brother, who smelled strongly of milk and banana, and who was wearing only the top half of a pair of her pajamas. His scrawny legs and little pink thing disgusted her, made her think of mushrooms and worms and other dirty things. 

'Well, I guess he has to get well, before he goes away.' 

Hannibal hummed without listening, his eyes fixed on the boy busy gobbling banana mush.

+


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's more of Hannibal watching Will and generally being a giant creeper. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience re developing Hannigram, but Hannibal loves to play the long game, even if nothing is standing in his way.
> 
> Also, your comments make my day; I really appreciate you guys taking the time to tell me what you think!

+

Hannibal watched Will, attempting to envision the parents who had so crippled their child socially, intellectually, physically... The Grahams were of course not a stable, happy couple in any sense; the father a serial killer, the mother blind and brow-beaten by her husband. Nonetheless, Louise Graham had given birth to the boy, no doubt a beautiful infant – how could she not have desired to nurture him, to protect him from the abuses of his father? 

Hannibal knew seeking a rational explanation for their unnatural actions towards their own son was futile, but surely, rather than erasing evidence of his existence, they could have given him up for adoption? Instead of confining him inside a small, dark room, dealt with as if he were nothing but an animal... Hannibal was not a good man, or a kind man himself, by any stretch of the imagination – although his besotted wife would claim otherwise – but to treat a child in such a manner soured his stomach, arousing bloodthirsty dreams of vengeance...

Had they truly thought they'd created nothing, a flesh-and-blood nonentity? But Will was essentially such a sweet, soft-skinned little boy, provoking great tenderness, far beyond what Hannibal had thought he was capable of feeling for another.

Will had disappeared once Abigail sat down for a breakfast of English muffins thickly spread with Nutella, eating daintily as a doll, washing it down with hot cocoa. A repulsively sugary, over-processed meal.

Then Miriam arrived to shuttle her off to school; a private all-girls school, supposedly the best education available in the state of Maryland, and certainly the most expensive. The girls were the daughters of lawyers and senators, insufferable well-heeled WASP types, rolling their plaid kilts, popping their collars, polka-dotted ribbons adorning their bouncing ponytails. Abigail had a Vera Bradley tote bag, a hideous paisley patchwork inexplicably popular, but already she was asking for a proper designer one, Coach or Prada, Gucci or Louis Vuitton, to flaunt to her friends and enemies alike. 

Hannibal inwardly shuddered at such ostentatious displays of wealth – so American, so vulgar – but he was not above parading his own superiority of taste, intellect and lifestyle. Hypocrisy was one of his many sins, far from the worst. 

'Bye, Papa! Love you!' she called as she ran out the door, breakfast revelations forgotten for now. 

+

Hannibal murmured a good-bye, already focused on searching for his quarry, blood rising at the thrill of the hunt. There were few places for Will to hide, but he enjoyed playing this game of hide-and-seek, cat-and-mouse. Eventually he discovered the boy hiding beneath the sideboard in the formal dining room. He attempted to coax Will out into the open, but he was distrustful, not so much afraid as doubtful. 

It was ironic that the one being whose trust Hannibal so sought was evidently able to see through his person-suit to the darkness seething beneath the surface. He tried to visualize what the boy thought of him, what his life was like, his sense of self developed in a world without people or words. Did he imagine that Hannibal would confine him, cage him, as his parents had done?

Hannibal wondered if Will comprehended anything he said to him, if the soothing words he spoke registered on any level. 

He retrieved a knit blanket, patterned with horses – Alana had once been an enthusiastic rider, and still loved anything equine – draping it over the boy's body, curled between wall and sideboard. Will sniffed it suspiciously before clutching it tightly around himself. Hannibal added a small throw pillow he'd discovered stashed in the linen closet to his hiding space as well, before returning to the kitchen to prepare lunch. 

Will followed him eventually out of curiosity, mouth watering at the scents circulating through the air. Hannibal's instinct told him that he'd consume seafood, but would not be partial to meat, having been largely vegetarian in the wild. Will snapped up the caramelized salmon eagerly, but he refused to eat the citrus-stewed bok choy, carrots and cabbage garnishing the fillet. He was not adverse to raw carrots or bell pepper, however, and devoured the stir-fried sticky rice. 

Hannibal drank green tea, sweetened with a touch of honey, and helped Will try a spoonful so he wouldn't slop it over his as-yet-pristine white shirt. At first his rosebud mouth puckered, as if unsure of the taste, but Hannibal was soon to discover he desired sweets above all else, as evidenced by his Nutella raid that morning. Will preferred his bottle of warm milk to water, but water was favored above any other beverage. 

+

Hannibal watched him like a man possessed; every movement, every expression was noted and treasured, stored deep in the confines of his memory palace. 

Alana had left early that morning, as she was on-call at the orphanage, but she'd seemed reluctant to leave her new charge. 

'I know you'll look after him, but just let me know if anything comes up, ok? Just let him explore the house some, it'll help him get more familiar and comfortable with us in the long run.'

Her admonishment was not necessary; Hannibal had no plans to do anything but devote the entirety of his considerable attention to William. He observed that Will smelled his food before deigning to touch it, appearing to identify objects by their scent, rather than what they resembled. He gazed at the butter-hazelnut cookie Hannibal placed on a dish, without apparently making an impact on him, but once he sniffed it, he beamed in recognition.

Sometimes he appeared to forget Hannibal's presence while he ate, then abruptly he'd become alert once more. 

His auditory perception was more acute than his sight, but it seemed to be entirely discriminating; he'd brighten at the sound of a knife chopping food, but not at the noise of an ambulance siren blaring down the street. Will glanced at Hannibal when he exhaled loudly, but appeared unaware when he applauded for the sake of confirming his hypothesis. 

The boy was selectively hard of hearing, a condition typical of children who suffered deprivation and separation from ordinary social circumstances; their senses of sight, hearing and smell keen only in terms of acquiring food. 

Later that afternoon, Hannibal held another cookie out to Will, and the boy took it from his hand for the first time. Ever so carefully, Hannibal drew Will to him and held him close; he was receptive, distracted with consuming his cookie.

He felt no revulsion towards the child in his arms, rather the reverse, truth be told. Nor did Will reject his advances, his touch. For many moments they sat together quietly, while Hannibal marveled at the enigma in his arms, absurdly wishing he could fix the experience for eternity, like an insect cast in amber.

+


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Hannigram relationship is slowly progressing and crossing boundaries because let's be real, Hannibal Lecter has none. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the delightful comments and kudos, I feel overwhelmed with support and it makes writing this a real joy.
> 
> Anybody going to San Diego Comic Con? I am! I'm supposed to be working a booth, but if I have to miss another Pannibal despite attending SDCC I might have to eat somebody.

That night, Will awakened before daybreak, and began to sob piteously. He sounded like a mewling kitten. Alana murmured, still half-asleep, as Hannibal slipped out of bed. 

'Wha – What's wrong?'

'Will's crying. I'll check on him.'

'Mm'kay.'

She rolled over and was lost to sleep. 

Hannibal rushed down the hall to Will's bedroom. 

'I'm here now, Will,' he said softly as he entered the room. 'I'm here, darling boy. Don't cry.'

Will ceased weeping, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he hiccuped, throat working. Hannibal sat down beside him and took him into his arms, stroking his hair and back, rocking him to and fro until the hiccups stopped. The sound of his voice appeared to calm Will, comforting him back to slumber. 

Hannibal felt the arms around his neck slacken with sleep; Will's cheeks were crusted with tear-tracks, eyes swollen. He laid the boy down ever-so-gently so as not to wake him again, tucking the covers around him snuggly. 

Hannibal brushed the sweaty curls plastered to Will's forehead back, bent down and pressed a kiss to the molten-hot skin of his temple. Feeling daring, Hannibal touched his lips to Will's sweet tender pout, jaw child-soft. Will didn't rouse, only sighed, deep asleep.

He was a cherub, a sylph, a creature of divine beauty on the cusp of adolescence. A masterpiece in the making. Hannibal wanted to crawl beside him, under the covers, share the innocent intimacy of sleep... And why not tonight? He certainly had a plausible explanation – Will had a night terror, and required Hannibal's presence as he slept... 

With that thought, he slid into the bed behind Will. It was a queen bed, more than wide enough for an adult man and a pubescent child to sleep in comfortably, but he drew closer to Will's back than necessary. The boy sighed again and shifted slightly, turning his face towards Hannibal, nestling into his curled fist like a baby seeking a thumb to suck. 

Hannibal breathed deeply of the milky musk of Will's nape, a scent so exquisite he was tempted to lick the slender neck before him, to see if he tasted as delectable as he smelled. The small cradle of Will's hips burrowed back into Hannibal's pelvis; he stilled and drew back from the arousing sensation, from flashes of mounting those boyish buttocks... 

Any sensuality would between them would be instigated by Hannibal, on his own terms, and only when Will was fully conscious to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. 

+

The next morning, Hannibal awoke before the rest of the house, as was his wont. Will was still sleeping, but he stirred at his departure, following him downstairs. For a mute child, he plodded down stairs very noisily. 

Hannibal sliced a loaf of bread he'd made a number of days before – cinnamon spice, only semi-sweet, and studded with raisins and walnuts. He toasted two slices before making a cafe for himself and a bottle of milk for Will. 

Will watched the process intently, no longer content to sit and wait in the bar stool. Hannibal spread one slice of toast with whipped butter, the other with his homemade peanut butter, less salty but still creamy, before handing the buttered piece to Will. 

As he did now at every meal, Will crept to Hannibal's side and reached toward his hand to smell what he was proffering. Suddenly, he grabbed the toast out of Hannibal's hand without his habitual hesitant caution; he must have been exceptionally ravenous. 

Will devoured the toast under Hannibal's fascinated eye. He touched Will while he ate, a move he hadn't ventured before. Will jerked away from his hand, bridling, unable to comprehend that Hannibal was merely caressing him. At that moment, he was something untamed and primitive, far from subdued and domesticated. 

Hannibal would have to train him, educate him about himself, that Hannibal was his champion and ally, as well as master and father. He recognized that until he succeeded in taming Will, he would never develop or advance further. 

An obvious method to instill who he was in relation to Will was to seize his toast, then give it back to him only when he calmed down, which he did with the expected results. Hannibal attempted to snatch the toast once more, but more slowly than before, provoking Will to give him his back. He prodded the boy, making him aware of his displeasure, and took away the toast again. 

Hannibal watched the moment it occurred to Will that he had enormous authority over him, controlling whether he ate or hungered. It was a glorious thing to see, the way his beautiful eyes sharpened with understanding, if not happiness at his enlightenment. 

Madly, Hannibal wanted to kiss his pert lips until they were swollen and bruised. Will glowered at him until he gave him the other slice of toast, tapping his shoulders lightly. 

Will gazed at Hannibal as he ate; once done, he withdrew to the corner of the room, underneath the kitchen table, and continued staring. Whenever Hannibal moved his head, hands or feet, Will's eyes followed. 

+


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, folks! Sometimes things get a little out of hand, and I don't have time for writing. But I'm back to delve deeper into Hannibal's god complex, facilitated by Will being a feral child. Funtimes.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and kudos/commenting!

+

After breakfast, Hannibal gave Will another bath while Alana and Abigail ate their breakfast. The less time Will spent in their company, the better he would understand Hannibal was his sole protector. He spent more time rubbing Will afterwards, less in the bath, although the boy loved playing in the water so. His joints were rigid, despite immersion in warm water; Hannibal massaged them with Singaporean Tiger Balm, kneading Will's limbs like a master masseur. 

The boy seemed to have grown almost oblivious to his touch, his scars almost entirely insensitive. Will's spine didn't appear to pain him, although it was crooked and would perhaps need a back brace to straighten it. Hannibal kneaded that area with an exceptionally light hand; Will's arms and legs were fine-boned but reasonably powerful. His neck was slim and elegant as a swan's, but his head hung down from one side to the other, his reflexes fluctuating from good to bad. 

Will giggled when Hannibal stroked the tender bottoms of his feet, kicking and writhing with delight. The various expensive emollients he used on Will seemed to be improving his skin which was now velvet-smooth and unbroken. The hives which had erupted on a patch of his back had cleared, leaving behind a lovely expanse of pale, unblemished flesh. Will's scalp, which had been dry and flaking, was much healthier due to Hannibal's ointments and potions. 

Hannibal nuzzled Will's curls, inhaling his scent voraciously. The boy allowed himself to be held and petted, compliant as always after a bath. Again, Will was aroused, and unconsciously rubbed his hips against Hannibal's waist, seeking the relief of friction. Hannibal admired his small yet defiant, uncircumcised penis, a marvel of un-self-aware boyhood sex play, but restrained himself from touching him in that manner. Not yet, with Alana and Abigail in residence and Will still untamed.

+

Hannibal had removed some of Abigail's more androgynous clothes from chests in the attic; most were gifts which she'd rarely worn, preferring as she did a more feminine style of dress. He felt a swell of bittersweet fondness for Will almost overwhelm him; in a sense, the boy was his child, his son, his heir. Not of his blood or his body, but his all the same. 

Her clothes fit him, although she was a healthy nine-year-old girl, and he a very slight twelve-year-old boy. Hannibal hadn't remembered the hideous lumberjack-plaid shirts, the denim overalls, the cowboy-and-Indian pajamas (from one of his less-politically-correct patients). He wished to take the boy to his own tailor, have him whip up a darling sailor-suit or short-and-knee-socks ensemble from his own childhood, but spending a good deal on quality clothes which would quickly be soiled dampened his enthusiasm. Once Will was cleaner, neater, more well-behaved, perhaps.

For the moment, Will appeared most comfortable in cotton T-shirts and a pair of red overalls which were an eyesore, but didn't squeeze his midriff. This in itself was an accomplishment, as Will had been most annoyed at the necessity of wearing any article of clothing at first. Hannibal found it amusing that skin as durable as his was at the same time so very delicate to certain fabrics and detergents. How strange it must have been to never wear clothes, how freeing to live in one's own skin! Yet for Hannibal's own purposes, he relied on his flamboyant, debonair style to mask himself from the world. 

Such openness, such transparency, was entirely alien to him, and entirely intriguing. 

Clothed, Will appeared to be like any other little boy, from certain perspectives in particular. He seemed conscious of this, behaving happily, admiring himself in the mirror, having made the connection with the image there as a reflection of himself. Hannibal felt paternally proud of Will's self-identification, progressing past the Lacanian mirror-stage. 

When Hannibal opened his arms to lift Will up, he smiled, dimpling, holding out his arms as high as he could. Grinning and laughing were not things he'd learned from his parents, the ill-fated Mr and Mrs. Graham, nor was it common amongst other cases of children who had survived severe isolation in the wilderness. Reoccurring outbursts of rage were notable, yet in many of the cases, the children were meagerly observed beyond short periods of grant-funded time. 

Will was so dear, so charmingly untouched, so anxious to please Hannibal; perhaps more so than anyone whose life was not held directly in his hands. Yet he was far from passive as a puppet or plaything. Hannibal was surprised and amused by his own capacity for sentimentality, when it came to the boy.

+

Alana had been quite preoccupied of late, sometimes even failing to inquire how his day had been, what progress he'd made with Will. Hannibal was not concerned about this, although he was determined to do nothing to risk his relationship with Will. At times he diverted himself by pondering what he'd do if she found out about his true motives in regards to their foster son. She would make an ultimatum, something trite and tedious, in all probability get in touch with Jack and other pertinent authorities. So unimaginative, so dully moralizing.

With both himself and Alana busier than before, Hannibal arranged for Miriam to not only pick Abigail up from her activities, but to spend the whole afternoon with her, elsewhere; perhaps downtown, to the marina, or one of the art museums, or Edgar Allan Poe's house... She might as well get a cultural education while she was out of the house.

That would enable Hannibal to spend entire days alone with Will, not just a few hours snatched whenever they could be alone together. Allowed sufficient time, he was determined Will could acquire the skills to act as an ordinary child – not entirely normal, of course. But enough to pass through life fully functioning, unobserved by anyone but Hannibal.


	18. Author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not a chapter, sorry to disappoint.

It has come to my attention that I inadequately tagged warnings for this story; I thought I had, and it was not my intention to be irresponsible as a writer. But that is no excuse, I should have covered all the bases when dealing with a subject as serious and upsetting as adult-child sexual relationships. Hebephilia is a term too obscure and specific, so I've added pedophilia to my tags. 

Hannibal Lecter in my eyes is the ultimate predator, perhaps an earthly incarnation of evil, a man who does not ascribe to conventional morality and takes great pleasure in breaking societal taboos such as killing and cannibalism. He is not a good man, not a redeemable man, but very alluring and easy to romanticize. Pedophilia is also taboo, immoral, illegal and deviant, but it is pointless to equate such acts with each other. 

I do not mean to condone any enactment of an adult's sexual desire for a child, traumatized or not, in real life. Both my sister and myself were for a number of years sexually abused by a close family member, and I'm sure any shrink would have quite a bit to say about my eroticization of a relationship between an abuser and his victim. 

What I find personally cathartic I recognize may be deeply disturbing to another. Any triggers, especially those involving sex and violence, are entirely subjective, and it is the role of the writer to recognize that and tag accordingly, which I failed to do. 

My sincerest apologies to any I have offended or sickened via this fic, although I doubt any are still reading this if that is the case. 

Normal updates will begin again tomorrow, but I just felt this matter had to be addressed before I continued with the story.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I just wanted to thank you for all your support despite my fuck-up, but I've definitely learned from my mistake!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you have any questions or concerns, please let me know and I'll try to rectify them as soon as possible.

Whenever he could, Hannibal demonstrated to Will how to utilize silverware eating utensils. Sometimes he would clasp whichever one Hannibal placed in his hand for more than a few moments before throwing it on the ground. 

He would have to train Will how to use them in between meals, when he would be capable of focusing without the distraction of food. The same problem occurred with linen serviettes; Will scowled when Hannibal rubbed his face free of crumbs. One day, whilst Hannibal was wiping creamy porridge from his cheek, he mimicked the boy's expression, curious to see his reaction. 

Will identified it, scowling with recognition.

Sometimes, Hannibal found himself wondering if the child really existed, was not just some perverse fantasy he imagined for himself, creating a creature so seriously in need of his affection and care. Hannibal had never been a man in great need of anyone's fondness or attention apart from his own, and certainly he was loved by his wife and little daughter. 

Will was completely reliant on him, totally dependent on Hannibal for everything. He captivated him absolutely, shielding him from the external world, demanding his vast reserves of perseverance, consideration and care. Will was his ideal child, a dream boy. 

He would never be capable of taking care of himself. He would never be rude. He would never grow up.

+

Will appeared to comprehend that Hannibal preferred him to keep apart from Alana and Abigail, that he must be completely silent when they were in residence. He grew to act like that on his own initiative. 

Hannibal arose in the morning at four o'clock to spend time with Will, who would be awake, awaiting him. He would feed him, then frequently he'd let him outside, in the back garden, as dawn broke. Will would sprint with delight, or perhaps they would lay down on the lawn together, Hannibal in his dark blue dressing-gown and Will in his cowboy-and-Indian pajamas. 

The boy would only laugh or utter his warbling sounds expressing content when they were alone. Hannibal observed that his lungs had drained of congestion. He was only rarely troubled by the thought of Alana discovering their early-morning play. She slept like a log, in any case. 

Hannibal was sleeping much less himself, finding that his body required only the barest minimum of rest to keep functioning optimally. He didn't pine for the lost hours of unconsciousness.

Will's uncertainty and terror of people was only natural, taking into consideration that all signs pointed to the fact that his relationship with Hannibal was his first emotional connection with another human being. He was, in some sense, basically a newborn, with similar needs and abilities. He relied on Hannibal to negotiate the world for him. 

Will was growing plumper, larger, even more angelic in appearance, if not behavior. A pretty little demon was perhaps a more accurate description. Hannibal enjoyed observing him while he slept soundly at night, his dark curls wild on the pillow, his rosy lips petulant even in sleep. A small androgynous creature, with the blue eyes so unlike his own, seeing in them an infinity of reflections of himself. 

+

Of all English-language utterances, Will was most fond of the 'o' sound. Not so much when it was said 'ah' or 'aw', but of 'oh no', 'dome', 'row', 'Poe' – resonant and sonorous and clear. This was almost identical to Wild Boy of Averyon's preference for 'o' sounds. Hannibal almost tempted to give him a Lithuanian name of Biblical origin, 'Adomas', a variation of 'Adam', would be most appropriate. 

Yet he refrained from re-naming him, as Will was now accustomed to being called 'Will', responding to his original identity. This new sense of himself seemed to strengthen his existence, a creature almost ordinary. No longer was he an animal, a freak of nature, a near-infant, a disgrace to be concealed from sight.

He was just Will, neither a true Graham nor a Lecter-Bloom, no matter how much he developed or how elusive he remained. 

+


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal tries to teach Will to speak, and fails, amongst other shenanigans. By which I mean Hannibal will get what he wants by whatever means necessary.

+

One evening, Alana and Abigail were watching television in the living room after dinner, watching a marathon of appalling reality-TV shows such as 'Keeping up with the Kardashians', 'Dance Moms' and 'Here Comes Honey Boo Boo', with re-runs of '19 Kids and Counting' and 'A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila' added to the mix. 

Why his wife and daughter watched such obnoxious shows was a mystery to Hannibal; they found it endlessly entertaining to watch the ignorant, tasteless scum of America pimp themselves and their children out for attention and money. No doubt they felt themselves both amused at such folly which re-affirmed their sense of superiority. 

Personally, it made him nauseous, and consider whether forced sterilization was in order for the majority of America's lowbrow population. Perhaps he should also get rid of the television set for good measure, HD or no. 

He spent such evenings in his sound-insulated study surrounded by bookshelves, reading the New York Times on his tablet. Will had been tucked in bed earlier, as he was often drowsy after dinner, needing sleep before another early-morning romp in the garden. 

He heard Alana and Abigail's brim over with laughter at whatever inane, transparently-scripted antics they were currently watching, then a moment later, a reverberating chortle in the hallway outside. More hysterical giggles from the living room, more echoing laughter. 

'Will,' Hannibal snarled, abandoning his tablet. He opened the door to the hallway; Will ignored him, fixated on the glowing light of the TV. 'Come in,' he instructed, irrationally angry at having been disobeyed. 

'What's going on?' Alana emerged from the living room, no longer laughing, but looking exhausted and grumpy at being disturbed.

Will made no reaction; Alana became uncharacteristically annoyed. Will made a move to attack, but Hannibal swept between them, chuckling and softly shoving them apart. 

'Go back and take a seat, darling,' he said. 'I'll put him back to bed. No doubt he was on his way to the washroom, and simply got distracted by the noise.' 

Alana sighed and rubbed her eyes before retreating to the den. 'Sure. Sorry for snapping at you, Will, ok honey? Mommy's just tired right now.' 

Hannibal hastily picked Will up and took him upstairs to his room. When Alana entered moments later, he lent over Will, already fast asleep, smoothing his blankets. Hannibal pressed a finger to her lips, gesturing to be silent. 

'He is asleep again,' he murmured. Alana glanced at Will, her face softening as she bent down to kiss his crown. 

'He's such a sweetheart,' she whispered, marveling. Hannibal had reigned in his urge to push her away from Will, filled with a terrible temptation to mark everywhere she had touched the child with his own lips, searing like a brand on snowy skin. 

Instead, he took Alana's hand for a moment, pressing it to convey his love for her. She smiled, kissing him, before she tip-toed her way downstairs. 

Once he was certain Alana was seated in the living room, Hannibal took Will into his arms again. The boy was masterful at playing asleep, with an almost unnatural understanding of when the act was required of him. 

Will was shaking slightly, frightened by all the commotion he had caused. He nestled in the corner of his bed, clinging to the cushion Hannibal had presented him with, secure between him and the wall. Hannibal caressed him, reluctant to leave but concerned Alana would come to check on them again, so he did not linger. 

He was no longer angry at the boy, as it was the first time he'd made an error of judgement. 

As Hannibal left Will's room for the second time that night, he pondered his relationship with his wife and daughter, the amount of time he had passed away from them of late. It would only be a matter of time before one, or both, of them commented on the matter.

+  
On July fourth, Hannibal remained at home with Will, while Alana took Abigail to a barbeque party at a friend's house, before driving to her parents' house in DC to watch the fireworks. 

They all agreed that the excitement and amount of people in attendance would not be right for Will, although Abigail pouted that 'Papa isn't coming.'

Hannibal was greatly relieved to miss the holiday festivities, being neither American nor particularly patriotic himself, or a fan of greasy ribs and tri-colored popsicles. There was no excessive racket in the upscale neighborhood in which they resided, although what sparklers and firecrackers there were scared Will. 

Hannibal was pleased to have an excuse to comfort the boy, who readily let himself be held. At dusk after they had finished dining, Will sunned himself in the final rays of the day in a window seat when without warning, he sneezed violently. 

He was so astonished at sound expelled from his nose, it was likely his first sneeze. He scrambled to his feet and stood motionless, as if paralyzed, gasping for breath as if afraid. Hannibal was unable to refrain from laughing at the strange sight, after which Will threw himself on his bed in mortification. 

How unusual to have never sneezed before, a mundane element of a pleasant and sheltered life, certainly a life more secure than the one he had lived previously. He was in good health, well and powerful, a remarkable change from the cringing creature he'd been only months ago in the Children's Center.

Yet Hannibal felt a twinge of dissatisfaction – would Will ever be capable of revealing to him what his life had been, in the woods, with the Grahams? Did he even want him to be able to remember, to communicate his past and memories, perhaps to others apart from Hannibal? Or perhaps his history was forever concealed from him as he had no language with which to document it in his mind when it had occurred... Perhaps he was unable to recall that period of his life in the manner in which others had no real recollections of infant-hood, as language produces memory...

He attempted to coax Will to speak by uttering as much as possible when together; not cooing baby-talk gibberish, but by indicating the names of various objects. 'Light,' 'table', 'carpet', 'bed' and 'water'. Hannibal displayed the object if possible, or otherwise specified it by sprinkling water, or wiping away dust.

Will appeared attentive, but mainly in Hannibal. It was difficult to induce him to focus on the task at hand. There was no simple way to force him to comprehend what Hannibal desired him to do, unless corporeal punishment was threatened. At the moment, he did not understand the game Hannibal was playing, and he had not yet discovered the method to educate him. 

Only infrequently would Will make an attempt to emulate Hannibal in the manner of an ordinary child. 

But he would learn in time, of that Hannibal had no doubt.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there readers, I hope you enjoyed July 4th (or happy belated Canada day, what have you). 
> 
> Here's the chapter were Hannibal gets paranoid, which was kind of fun to write because he's always so unflappable. And is probably in need of more editing than I have energy for at the mo.
> 
> The next chapter is where things get really fucked up, just to warn ahead of time.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos :)

+

Will was sleeping. Hannibal sat in a chair beside him, taking notes on his sleeping patterns. He felt a strange sense of serenity, one entirely natural, not forced for the sake of the public. Abigail was staying another night with her maternal grandparents, who adored her and spoiled her excessively. He had never been particularly fond of his in-laws, but they did not know any warmth on his part was entirely artificial, and were very impressed with his European urbanity, towering intellect and prestigious position. 

Alana was likely in downtown Washington, catching up with colleagues from Georgetown, many of whom worked as child therapists like herself. He remembered once, years ago, when they were beginning to be involved, she had taken him to see the National Gallery of Art, rhapsodizing about the displays of pop art, although he much preferred the Byzantine sacred pieces himself. The cherry blossoms had been in bloom, then. 

Hannibal had thought she was the only woman he could tolerate as a long-term partner, the mother of his child, feeling if not love, than a kind of companionable fondness for her. How things had changed, or perhaps he'd just grown bored of her earnestness and gullibility, her strictly middle-class tastes and values.

+

So far, everything was going perfectly as planned. He had parked his BMW in the garage the night before, during the distraction of the fireworks, and was cautious about opening the front door, so as not to catch a neighbor's eye and cause them to wonder why he hadn't joined the rest of his family on their trip. It was no one's business but his own, yet better to attentive to all possibilities than not. 

Hannibal and Will passed the day blissfully by doing nothing at all; or at least Will did. Hannibal washed down his kitchen, as was his compulsive habit every weekend or holiday, despite employing a housekeeper nearly every day. Meanwhile Will amused himself by playing with brightly-colored blocks, toys retrieved from Abigail's toddler years. 

For once, Hannibal did not have to demonstrate the task at hand; instead, Will seemed to instinctively understand how to build structures with them, proving himself quite the capable little architect. There merely a single time when he awkwardly bumped into what resembled a church steeple, sending it crashing down and provoking a cry of frustration from him. He built up the heap of blocks again, only to strike at it with his hand once more. Perhaps indicative of an all-too-human interest in creation and destruction, with an emphasis on the latter like Hannibal himself.

Hannibal petted him, and the boy calmed quickly, wriggling out of his arms to try it again. As he soothed Will, Hannibal contemplated that perhaps it was less innate awkwardness on Will's part than a kind of unconscious trembling of his body at times of great excitement. 

Overall, however, Will was exceptionally stable on his feet, where once he had been hunched, listing from side to side. The boy seemed fascinated by the many dissimilar colors, shapes and sizes of the blocks, as well as the smooth wood texture, which he rubbed against his cheek. He tried sniffing and licking the blocks, but lost interest before Hannibal even pulled one out of his mouth. Will appeared to have a fine perception of dimension, and as he amused himself, he improved at choosing the block which would match the other block's scored edges, like a jigsaw puzzle testing problem-solving skills. Maria Montessori would have been proud. 

By the time Will was finished playing with the blocks, he seemed to comprehend that the game was meant to be hard to solve, yet he continued picking the objects that were the most difficult to balance on top of each other. The child was a font of remarkable data about human development and the effects of abuse and isolation, the perfect subject for a groundbreaking case study. But Hannibal knew he would be loath to share any insight or information on Will with any others in the psychiatric field, including his wife. 

+

Hannibal wished to escort Will outside that afternoon, but he knew all too well that their prying neighbors on both sides of the house would be able to catch a glimpse of him if they were in their backyards or glancing out their windows. Perhaps he was being oversuspicious, but better to be secure than regret having exposed their intimacy in public, despite the high hedgerow on the Lyams' side. He would allow it to sprout even taller, sufficiently high and wide to allow seclusion from curious eyes. 

Or perhaps he would move ahead and have a fence constructed around his property, on the Todds' side without a doubt, considering the appalling state of their lawn and garden despite the gentrification of the neighborhood. He would purchase a hedgerow, although Alana would be upset that he had not consulted her, and as well as the fact it would cost a great deal, money that they could well afford. 

Hannibal was both amused and repulsed at the idea of living inside a white-picket fence like a cliché dream of suburban Americana. A tall metal fence with ornamental curls reminiscent of Paris, in addition to an coded intercom at the gate, would be well worth the cost. 

For the first time in his near-two-score life, Hannibal was astonished to find himself feeling vulnerable, although he had always been fastidious about his right to privacy.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter has a dub/non-con warning as Will is a mute, emotionally disturbed child, and obviously cannot give any kind of informed consent to engaging in sex acts with an adult. If this offends you, please read no further. 
> 
> I was actually really nervous writing this chapter, but here goes. 
> 
> There are two references here - one is a translation, 'mein Schatz' means my treasure in German, and the other is a reference to Death in Venice, another of my favorite '70s movies centering on the relationship between a boy and a man.

+

Will would frequently climb into the master bed with Hannibal while Alana and Abigail were still downstairs in the living room watching television or reading. He would burrow beside Hannibal, nestling inside his arms. It was a moment of complete contentment for them both, suspended in time like a drop of dew. 

When Alana came upstairs, Will would take it as his cue flee to the washroom to give her the illusion of relieving himself or brushing his teeth. 

But tonight they did not have to concern themselves with perpetuating that farce, as it was their last night alone before the feminine members of the family rejoined them. 

Both had fallen asleep while Hannibal read Will tales of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table, an abridged children's version taken from Abigail's bookshelf. Will sat on his lap without fussing, although he was mostly interested in the beautiful accompanying illustrations of luminous silver armor, red-gold hair and forest-green gowns. 

Hannibal awoke to the boy's movement of clambering back onto the bed, likely after a bathroom break; it was no small feat, considering his size relative to the tall king's-sized bed. He felt the urge to help Will, but resisted, allowing him to figure it out for himself. 

He suddenly became aware of Hannibal's gaze, tensing like a doe in the eye of a hunter's gun. Hannibal was abruptly unsure of what he wanted with Will. He was fully cognizant of his own obsession, infatuation, even love for the boy, insofar as he was capable of loving anyone. Their's was a paedophilic romance, and he embraced it – Will was his Tadzio, but there would be no death, only enrapture for them both. How delightfully unexpected in a man of his age, he, a man who privileged his cerebral side over the pleasures of the flesh... 

To now rediscover carnality, in a child so unlike the boy he once was, so unversed in the ways of the world. He was his everything, and he saw that it was good. 

Hannibal snapped into motion like a snake, raising up Will over to his side, touching him soothingly.

'What are you doing, _mein Schatz_?' asked Hannibal, smoothing Will's curls. He was getting disturbingly sentimental about the boy. 

'Do you like the book we were reading?' 

Will was burrowed against his side, and nodded his chin up and down on Hannibal's chest in response.

'Mmm,' was his comment, before he rolled over on his belly, exposing his small, pert buttocks, as hairless and pale as an infant's. On sudden impulse, Hannibal grasped under the blanket and clasped Will's narrow, boney ankle, irrationally afraid he would dash away. 

He attempted to comfort Will by touching him; he grasped Hannibal's arm and looked over his shoulder in response, eyes dilated and intense.

Hannibal ever so slowly moved over until he was holding Will to him closely, pressing himself against the boy, acutely aware of his greater mass, of the need for gentleness. He kissed the downy nape of his neck, which smelled milky, with a salt tang, and massaged Will's shoulders, then his spine, lastly the perfect moons of his buttocks, which looked as edible as peaches. 

Will lay still beneath him, his breathing elevated, squirming slightly under Hannibal's ministrations, as though unsure whether to pull away or push closer. 

+

Hannibal had never desired anything more than to mate, to make love to this enchanting creature. He hovered over Will, bearing his own weight on his hands, so that his chest only lightly skimmed his velvety, sleep-sweaty back. There would be no going back, after this. But it was no error, rather the finest experience of sensuality, something to savor. 

He did not penetrate the boy, despite the temptingly untouched tightness of the furl of skin, hidden in Will's cleft like a dark star, wrinkled like a pout, on which he bestowed a tender kiss, a promise of things to come. But he did not want to harm the child, to tear that fragile flesh, for he was fairly well-endowed, and despite any preparation, it would pain Will. Time enough for that later, when Will had grown used the sensation of writhing beneath his body. 

Instead, Hannibal rutted like a beast between his legs, against the sensitive skin of his perineum, clenching his teeth in an attempt to stave off his climax, making little noise apart from guttural grunts. Will was whimpering, thrashing about like a whippet, curls clumped to his dewy forehead. The bed springs rasped, yielding beneath them and jouncing back, despite the fact it was a high-quality, expensive mattress. Will bounced between the bed and Hannibal, so he attempted to shift them side to side instead, but Will gripped at his arm for support. 

The springs thudded more forcefully against the wall. Will kept pace with his thrusts, breathless, mewling and panting like a dog in heat, his noises driving Hannibal to the brink of madness. 

Will trembled violently, clutching at Hannibal's hand, his hips rabbiting uncontrollably as he spurted the bedclothes with the pearls of his release. He collapsed down, shaking through the aftershocks. Hannibal mercilessly drew his hips up, maddeningly close himself. Will lay boneless, his sweet mouth the blissful 'o' of oblivion, before starting to lap languorously at Hannibal's arm as if he were a kitten licking cream. He whined and hummed, his face wet with sweat and tears from overstimulation. 

At last Hannibal cried out, his voice hoarse and accented, semen pumping through his hands like a popped bottle of champagne, painting Will's back with white. He had the instinct not to fall on top of Will, rolling to the side despite his mind's starburst of pleasure. He breathed heavily, holding out an arm to Will who crawled over, a drained expression on his face. _Fucked out_ , a vulgar part of him whispered. _Claimed. Mine._

He held Will close in the circle of his arms, scenting the smell of their sex in the air. He kissed the boy, was unable to stop pressing kiss to his mouth, his cheeks, his throat, his hair, his stomach, still soft with baby fat – making Will squeal and bat at him with glee. Never had Will been so relaxed lying against him, head curled on his breast. His mouth was half-open, a string of saliva hanging from the bow. Hannibal licked it away tenderly, like a great mother cat. 

Will did not make another sound, eyes already drooping with sleep, lashing fluttering against Hannibal's chest.

+


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I found that fan art I was looking for, the one which really inspired this story and is essentially how I envision Will and Hannibal, once Will has been brought home and somewhat socialized. Here's the link to the artist's tumblr; their work is really phenomenal: http://coheehome.tumblr.com/post/55591304570
> 
> I can't adequately stress how much all your comments and kudos mean to me. They keep me going and make me smile with delight, so thank you guys for that.

+

Will appeared to be fine the next morning. Perhaps he did not remember the night before, the savage pleasure they had taken in each other's arms a mere fever dream. Hannibal felt conflicted, unsure almost of himself, the entire thing a crazed hallucination apart from the semen staining the sheets, crusting upon their skin, the scent of sex in the air.

Yet when Will awoke, he grasped Hannibal's large hand in his own and held it to his forehead, before putting his own hand over Hannibal's and closing his eyes. Hannibal sat still, letting the boy do as he wished. For a few moments, Will placed Hannibal's hand over the crown of his head, adding his own small palm, and shut his eyes once more.

After a while, he evidently desired for Hannibal's hand to cup the back of his head, repeating the entire movement ritualistically. Hannibal was intrigued – what did this covering of his eyes with Hannibal's hand mean? Certainly it was an expression of trust and affection conveyed by physical touch, a reassurance of Hannibal's tenderness towards him. 

Hannibal finally arose from bed, drawing his robe over his nakedness and going downstairs to prepare a simple breakfast for Will and to make an espresso for himself. When he returned to the master bedroom with Swiss muesli and fresh yogurt for Will, artfully arranged on a child-sized silver tray, Will got up from the bed, entirely unconscious of his nudity, surprising Hannibal by throwing his arms around his waist. 

He bent to place his lips to one of Hannibal's bare knees, then the other, kissing them adoringly. Hannibal found himself shockingly touched by the gesture, putting the tray down on the bedside table to swing the boy into his arms and kiss him voraciously.

Unfortunately, they had no time to loll about in bed enjoying each other, as Alana and Abigail were due to arrive around noon. He would have to strip the sheets and launder them after a bath. 

+

Hannibal carried his child-lover into the neo-Classical master bathroom, all marble and mirrors with touches of Mediterranean blue. Instead of a tub there was a deep Jacuzzi which Hannibal filled for them both to bathe in. 

To his amusement, Will insisted on checking the temperature of the water before being immersed. He frowned and shook his head to indicate that the water was excessively heated. A month ago, he had been completely unconcerned with the temperature, likely would not so much as noticed. 

Hannibal appeased him by pouring in additional cold water. Will knelt on the side of the Jacuzzi, attentively observing Hannibal's every move. He shut off the faucet's flow. 

Will submerged his hand once more, deemed it acceptable, and clambered over the side. Hannibal watched him for a moment before joining him in the warm, bubbling water. 

How did it feel, to so abruptly become sensitized to matters which one had previously been unaffected by?

Will seemed cheerful, playing and splashing about, giggling at the feel of a stream of bubbles bursting at his back. Was this because he had a feeling that he was growing to be more and more like any other child? Or more precisely, becoming more like Abigail, for instance?

Hannibal was aware that Will, when he thought himself unobserved, scrutinized Abigail from a safe distance. He had once found Will underneath Abigail's bed, and behind her favored armchair in the living room. 

Did he comprehend what was becoming of him? That he was in a sense regressing in some ways as he was developing in others, losing his primitive animal instincts, wildness and base innocence of society, of his own identity, of a need for something greater than to merely survive... Was his progress just, or cruel? Would he ever profit sufficiently to conform with humanity? Did Hannibal even wish him to?

+

He had resumed his attempts to persuade Will to mimic utterances, without much success. He was unable to make clear to him what he wanted. If he touched Will's mouth to form the shape necessary, the boy broke into laughter, imagining Hannibal to be playing with him or stroking him, wanting to kiss and cuddle together. 

Perhaps the slash marring his throat was the problem, having damaged his vocal cords. He would have to take Will to one of the best orolaryngologists in the country at Johns Hopkins.

Hannibal was unable to deduce anything he could do to make Will understand the importance of speech for communication. But should his voice box be truly harmed, he would change tactics on the doctor's recommendation, either for an operation or else to begin teaching Will sign language. 

They were dressed and eating lunch in the kitchen, the sheets whirling in the washing machine, when the front door opened.

'We're home!' called out Alana. 

+


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal makes a stupid mistake, because he's a sadist and/or insensitive. 
> 
> This is my last chapter for a little while, as I'm away the next two weeks and am going to be very busy. I'll try and write what/when I can, but no promises, although I'm gonna miss regularly writing about these guys. 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed it this far, and thank you for all the comments and kudos. I love you guys, but I'll cut the mush so you can get reading.

Hannibal awoke at midnight to find Will in the master bedroom, watching Alana and him sleep, blue eyes glowing eerie as a cat's in the darkness. 

Was the boy jealous of the woman sleeping at his side, as he had for the last few days? Hannibal was almost tempted to allow Will to crawl into bed beside him, but decided against it. Far too dangerous, with Alana there. 

Besides, it would be unjust to Will, would only bewilder him further about which privileges he was allowed, and which were denied to him. Even if they went to sleep in Will's bedroom, Alana or Abigail would probably discover them the next morning if Hannibal did not awaken in time. He was no longer as light a sleeper as he had been in the past – likely due to how little he was sleeping – and could not trust himself to hear others approaching. 

Hannibal was unsure how long Will had remained there, watching them, like a phantom of the night. He had fallen asleep again only to be awakened once more to find the boy still standing there, but he may have only dreamed it. 

+

Hannibal was meant to organize a playdate for Abigail the next morning, but he managed to evade it by claiming that he had a specific consultation with an optometrist arranged for Will. Incidentally, he managed to secure an appointment for that afternoon with little trouble; merely mentioning his own name was enough to get what he desired. 

Alana sighed, but said she understood that he had to have Will's vision tested. She arranged Abigail's playdate with Marissa instead. 

Jack called after lunch, asking after Will and wanting to set up a meeting at the Children's Center; Hannibal answered him politely as ever, but inside his throat he felt an animal need to roar and bare his teeth in frustration.

Later, after Will had been outfitted with delicate black-rimmed glasses – which dominated his small face and magnified his already-large eyes to remarkable proportions – both he and Abigail began to doze like kindergardeners. The house was entirely quiet, a rare occurrence, as Abigail was quiet the chatterbox these days. 

Normally Hannibal amused Will while Abigail was away or sleeping at night, but today the boy was tired out from having his eyes inspected. 

+

When Marissa arrived, Hannibal bolted the door to Will's room so they would not bother him, although he wondered how he would behave in the presence of another girl-child. Unfortunately, it was pouring down rain, so the girls could not play outdoors. 

For being 'best friends forever', Marissa and Abigail quarreled constantly. Apparently Abigail had taken something of Marissa's, and Marissa knocked her drink into Abigail's lap, then Abigail cracked the screen of Marissa's new smartphone, provoking Marissa to tug on Abigail's hair, smearing it with pumpkin bread crumbs. Abigail screamed and held Marissa against the wall, Marissa crying and kicking at her. Abigail then sank her teeth into Marissa's arm before Alana intervened. The teeth marks were still embedded in Marissa's arm by the time her mother arrived to take her home.

Hannibal was almost proud of his wildcat of a daughter, and amused by her brawl with her friend, no matter how un-ladylike. 

When he had last checked in on Will, the boy was calmly drawing and coloring a large sheet of paper with what looked like stick-figure deer. Yet when he returned from downstairs with a tray of fresh pumpkin bread, Will was banging and scraping at the inside of the door like a wild animal. 

Hannibal's heart accelerated with concern and he wrenched the door open to find Will a complete mess, trembling and wailing with distress. Two of his fingers bled from scraping at the door. He made a kind of warble in his throat when he saw Hannibal and threw his arms around him as if he had thought he would never see him again. He cradled Will in his arms and murmured to him softly, rocking him to and fro. 

When Hannibal had to return downstairs as Abigail was once again shrieking, he told Will to stay there as he would come back soon. Locking the door distressed Will so greatly that he did not have the heart to do it once more, but he did watch vigilantly to prevent the girls going upstairs. 

Will remained there, as he had been instructed, and when next Hannibal went upstairs, he found Will deeply asleep, nestled in bed, his eyes puffy beneath his crooked glasses and face tear-stained. He gently removed the glasses, so as not to awaken him. 

Hannibal sat in a chair beside the bed, reading Patricia Highsmith – although the crime genre was generally low-brow, he enjoyed the amoral adventures of Thomas Ripley – as the rain slowly ceased. Later that evening, he would take Will outside as cool, fresh air could only benefit the boy. 

+


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I lied - I found the time to write another chapter despite the jet lag, and also because I feel bad about the shortness of recent chapters. 
> 
> On another note, I was accused by a commentator of being a pedophile because I am writing about pedophilia, which I find particularly offensive as I have personally suffered at the hands of a pedophile in my immediate family while growing up. If the Hannibal in this fic comes across as somewhat sympathetic, it is because the story is told from his warped perspective, in the manner of Humbert Humbert. 
> 
> Now, this is nothing but a fan fiction, but I believe the rules of creative freedom also apply, and that most recognize that writing about something such as rape, murder or abuse does not mean one condones or partakes in these acts. Otherwise, Bryan Fuller is himself a cannibalistic serial killer, and both Vladimir Nabokov and Thomas Mann were themselves pedophiles. I was astounded to find such morally-righteous ignorance in this of all fandoms, but happily almost all of my readers and commentators are lovely and respectful, offering constructive criticism or justified complaints about faulty tagging.
> 
> Sorry for the diatribe guys, as I know for most people all of this is obvious. But not to all. Hopefully, these will be my last words on the subject, and that it doesn't spoil your enjoyment of this fic. 
> 
> Until next time!

The next morning dawned bright and clear. For the first time, Hannibal allowed Will to join him in his private sanctuary, an impressive study and library room which overlooked the backdoor garden. Abigail had not been permitted to return after she had destroyed some important paperwork with a bottle of calligraphy ink; perhaps allowing Will inside the room was even more foolhardy. 

Will clutched a rejected toy of Abigail's – a moth-eaten stuffed dog with matted fur – to his chest, peering around anxiously, intimidated by the floor-to-ceiling selves of books. He seated himself on Hannibal's lap, having picked out a book of Edward Gorey's delightfully macabre work, turning the pages while Hannibal read to him. 

Will seemed to sense that the room required an appropriate air of solemnity, murmuring beneath his breath and making a strenuous effort to be well-behaved. The house itself was silent, with none of Abigail's prodding and shouting about, accusing her mother and Miriam of hiding things which she was unable to find. So Will amused himself and listened calmly all morning, although he became tired and irritable by lunchtime. Three hours of paying attention was an eternity to one of Will's short attention-span. 

At times Will had so much excess energy, Hannibal considered the merits of taking him to the neighborhood playground, to run about and work off some steam. But the strange, possibly aggressive other children there might frighten Will, and Hannibal preferred to keep him close in the house. 

+

Later, when Hannibal had returned from an appointment with his highly-esteemed colleague, Dr. Du Maurier, as close a friend and confidant as he had ever known – and who had immediately sensed something dramatically different in Hannibal – Will ran up and held onto his waist, smelling him with soft, snuffling sounds. Could the child truly detect Bedelia on his skin, like a dog? Her hand shaking his in greeting, her immaculate ice-blonde locks scented with mint-flavored hair products?

He unquestionably behaved as if he could, with a sharper sense of smell than Hannibal's own keen olfactory organs. Hannibal was pleased that they were able to spend the afternoon alone, as Alana was attending a conference in St. Michaels, while Abigail was chauffeured about by Miriam, from school to one of her many extracurricular activities. 

This presented him with an opportunity to dedicate himself entirely to Will, reassuring him of his affections. At one point, Will wrenched his hands away, sprinting to the corner of the room where he liked to nap. He hid his head in his arms; Hannibal followed him, embracing and caressing him. Will grasped at his waistcoat and clutched at him. 

Hannibal assured him that he was loved and that there was nothing to fret about. Will appeared to calm down after a time. 

The afternoon passed swiftly, Hannibal finding that they had not accomplished what he had hoped, although they would achieve them eventually. 

Oddly, Will appeared to draw both paternal fondness and erotic love from him in a manner which Alana and Abigail rarely did. 

+

Abigail had recently developed a common cold, with a temperature above 101 degrees. No other girl at her school had one, causing Alana to wonder over the phone where she had managed to contract it. As Alana was still away and Miriam for once busy with other commitments, Hannibal was the sole adult in the house, watching after two children, one sick and the other only somewhat socialized. 

Will did not comprehend the cause of the commotion. Hannibal carried him downstairs and kept Will with him, away from Abigail so he would not catch the virus, although he attempted to shadow Hannibal when he checked up on Abigail. 

All Will desired was to be close to him. When Hannibal took his seat in the study to inspect various invoices, Will sat down on the floor beside him. In the kitchen, he continually attempted to assist Hannibal while cooking, and was currently seated with a dish clenched between his legs, mixing beaten egg whites with fresh whipped cream for chocolate mousse until Hannibal instructed him to stop. 

When the boy accompanied him to Abigail's bedroom, he wished to assist Hannibal with applying a vapor rub to her chest, but was ordered away. Will no longer appeared to be frightened of Abigail, although he was well aware it was best to stay away from her. Hannibal suspected that he had discerned that she was too ill to observe his presence. He did not allow Will to touch her, should he pick up her cold, with his particularly vulnerable immune system. 

Abigail kicked her blankets away while Hannibal was busy washing Will. She did not appear to be feeling much worse, but she refused to eat anything, apart from an absurd demand for moose tracks ice cream. Instead, Hannibal brought Will outdoors for some much-needed physical activity. He watched Catherine Lyam, their next-door neighbor, drive off, no doubt for an extra-marital rendezvous, taking no notice of the strange little boy on the Lecter-Bloom's lawn. 

Abigail was sleeping once more; he would be able to hear her should she awaken and cry out.

+


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back! I had a wonderful, insanely busy two weeks topped off with an exciting, exhausting Comic-Con (I went to the Hannibal panel which just re-affirmed my adoration of the show, and met up with a lovely Fannibal). But I missed my fic, and am hoping to get back to a regular updating schedule now I don't have a full plate for the rest of the summer. 
> 
> Bon appétit!

Hannibal suffered terrible dreams that night. He could barely recall them the next morning, but a single image remained: of seizing someone's hand and feeling them fall from his grasp gradually, both attempting to clutch to each other – over the brink of the abyss, into liquid darkness.

He could not distinguish who this elusive being was, slipping out of sight, although he sensed that it began as one individual before shifting into another. Only his nightmares marked that winter so long ago, terrors buried deep beneath the snow of his childhood. Did others recall so keenly the suffering of their past?

That afternoon, Hannibal swathed Abigail in a quilted cover and brought her to Marissa's house while he took Will to Johns Hopkins for a physical check-up. He desired time alone with Will, away from the prying hands and eyes of other doctors, away from his own intrusive family. Will himself had been moody of late, envious of the attention Abigail's illness had granted her. Abigail appeared much improved, yet still feverish, although without so high a temperature as before. It should lessen soon, and her recovery would be rapid. 

After the doctor's appointment – Hannibal had managed to arrange for a physician of his own choosing, rather than one of Chilton's – Will allowed Hannibal to feed him with silverware, masticating his meal without disruption. The boy kept his hands either on the dining-room table or his lap, docile as a lamb.

+

The following day, Will mimicked an utterance of his own volition, with no prodding from Hannibal. In fact, he made two distinct sounds – 'sh' and 'ah' in conjunction, much like the French word for cat, 'chat.' Trying to contain his excitement at Will's unprecedented linguistic feat, Hannibal repeated sounds in various amalgamations, with Will toiling arduously in order to please him. 

Hannibal watched him struggle, and pushed on, expecting to utter something that would break through to him. 

When he said 'sha,' Will immediately recited 'sha.' His whole face illuminated with pride in this accomplishment, and he broke into laughter. 

'Sha,' he repeated. 'Sha.' Despite himself, Hannibal chuckled and took him into his arms. Will was eager to attempt more sounds, squirming in his grasp. Hannibal uttered a couple words, but Will was unable to articulate any of them, so he ceased for the day. He did not wish Will to give up or stop feeling pleased with himself. 

'Sha,' Hannibal repeated. 

'Sha,' Will recited, self-assured of his own prowess.

Hannibal could not remember ever seeing him so happy. 

+

They continued the speech exercises the following day, in doubtless a more practical manner. Hannibal did not devise or obey any meticulous, strict prototype in training Will; many books on the matter were littered with erroneous methods in treating developmentally-disabled children how to speak. Above all, Hannibal trusted his own judgement, and had been rarely proved wrong. 

They practiced various utterances, reviewing sounds up to and beyond 'sha.' Will was abundantly receptive; every time Hannibal spoke, Will strove to repeat his words – until the child was entirely drained of energy, too tired to be frustrated. 

Hannibal attempted to evade this by moving more quickly, more fluidly, willing to reward him for merely making an attempt. Such recompense appeared to prevent Will from experiencing too much stuttering and agony. Sometimes, he would hit the correct sound at the correct time, but Hannibal soon discerned that such victories were entirely erratic. 

Will gazed at his mouth so he would know what to emulate with his own lips. Hannibal gifted him a small mirror to assist him, yet up to the present it had been little help. 

Hannibal would say 'mah,' and Will would utter 'bah.' He'd then say 'bah' to allow Will the opportunity to be correct, but the boy would utter 'boh' instead. Most exasperatingly, he could scarcely even vocalize 'sha' any longer.

By the conclusion of a lesson, the blood vessels in Will's temples bulged and pulsed so harshly Hannibal could see them beneath the surface of his skin, and he had pressed his clenched hands to the point of cutting off circulation. Hannibal was at a loss of how to calm him down. 

He had forced Will to work far too arduously. Hannibal left the room for a moment to use the washroom, and when he returned, Will was perched on the window seat. He shook to and fro, hitting his hands against the windowsill, whipping his head too quickly, attempting to make sounds – the vowels, but he was unable to as he could not restrain his tongue or his clenched teeth, whilst weeping. 

Hannibal presented him with a peanut-butter-and-jam muffin, his favorite treat, which he ate, still whimpering. Currently, he was resting in his room. When Will felt well enough to get up, Hannibal would ensure that they would only play and enjoy themselves for the rest of the day. 

+


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I meant to update this yesterday but I was flying, which always makes me feel sweaty and nauseous and just generally gross. 
> 
> A revelation involving Alana is coming next chapter... 
> 
> Enjoy!

+  
Abigail's cold lingered, her throat inflamed and nose leaking mucus. Alana took her to the pediatrician without compliant or comment on Hannibal's lack of interaction with their daughter. When they had left, Hannibal worked in his study meticulously coding his notes on Will, while Will himself crept into Abigail's bedroom and demolished her favorite gold-ringleted doll, Lucinda, shattering her porcelain face and her blue glass eyes. He had hurled it against the wall in an impulse of destruction. 

Will did not know how to apologize, but Hannibal discerned his distress, his remorse. The boy hid his face in Hannibal's lap, small shoulders quaking with silent tears. He disciplined himself by remaining within his room for the remainder of the day, making no attempt to come downstairs. In all likelihood, Will was filled with regret immediately after the deed was done – it was evident that he had attempted to fix it with globules of Elmer's glue, piecing together the doll's face into a nightmarish fragmented patchwork. 

To say Abigail was upset would be an understatement – she was near unconsolable about the loss of her Lucinda. Hannibal felt irritated at her histrionic display; they could easily buy her another doll, even the same one, as ludicrous as a porcelain doll was as a toy for a nine-year-old child...

'I don't care! I don't want any other doll! I just want Lucinda, and it's all his fault!' scream-sobbed Abigail, before running upstairs and slamming her door shut. 

Alana sighed and rubbed her hand over her eyes. Hannibal noticed the fine webbing of lines around her eyes with indifference. 

'She'll be fine once she gets another doll. You should have seen her with Dr. Franklin – you would have thought she was on her death-bed! But he says it's nothing more than the common cold...'

Hannibal did not respond, pondering what schemes were bubbling in his daughter's head regarding Will at that very moment. Abigail was one who did not take any slight lightly – her revenge would be had, no matter how clumsy or childish. While concerned for Will's wellbeing, he was intrigued by what might unfold between the two children beneath his roof. 

The most favorable aspect of the entire debacle which he did not neglect to notice was that Will had never before displayed any indications of contrition for his own actions. He had never before acknowledged that he himself was to blame for anything. Hannibal thought that perhaps it was time to acquire Will toys of his own to play with. 

Most of the objects he'd amused himself with to date had been various things belonging to other members of the family. Never his own possessions. And Hannibal was aware of Will's recent interest in proper shoes, unlike his own loathsome bright plastic Crocs, the only footwear he had consented to wear as they were the most comfortable, leaving his feet both naked and protected.

+

Abigail awoke in the middle of the night shrieking with a night terror. Her skin was whiter than usual, sheened with perspiration. Shaking, she cried:

'I dreamed that Papa was being eaten by a monster!'

Alana pulled her into her arms, shushing her and crooning softly. 

'It's ok, baby, there's no monsters now. Mommy and Papa are here to protect you, ok?'

Hannibal bent to press an obligatory kiss to her forehead. 

'Sleep, my child. Nothing more will disturb you this night.'

He watched rain begin to spatter her window, drops blurring together and sliding down the glass into nothingness. 

The rain poured down all day. Alana looked for her raincoat in the hall closet, but was unable to locate it. She called out to Hannibal, who was in the kitchen making breakfast. 

'Hey, honey, have you seen my raincoat? I swear I left it in the hall closet last week.'

Hannibal continued slicing strawberries for the filling of cocoa crepes. 

'No, I am afraid I have not seen it of late, Alana.'

'Hmmm... Has to be here somewhere.'

She began to search for it in earnest, in the master bedroom, the linen closet, the basement, even the bathrooms. Absolutely everywhere, but the elusive coat was nowhere to be found.

'Come and have an espresso and I'll continue the search,' said Hannibal, performing the part of a dutiful husband. Alana sat down with her cuppa gratefully.

'I feel like I'm going crazy... I can't remember where I put any damn thing...' she muttered to herself.

Hannibal was not listening, perceiving noises from the floor above. He had believed Will to be still asleep. Perhaps Alana had awoken him by calling for Hannibal. He took off his apron, folding it neatly, and went upstairs to inspect the situation. 

He encountered Will on the stairs, hauling Alana's plum-colored, tailored raincoat behind him. He had clearly overheard their conversation, comprehended what Alana desired, and was attempting to bring it to her. He understood far more than Hannibal had deemed him capable of; he was well aware that Will grasped select words – words Hannibal repeated frequently such as 'come', 'go' or 'kiss' (this last proving to be most popular with Will, who would demand a kiss from a most willing Hannibal), in addition to object-words like 'balloon', 'spoon', 'shirt', 'water', 'hot' or 'fast'. 

But surely no-one in their little family dynamic, himself especially, could have uttered the word 'raincoat' on numerous occasions? What else did Will comprehend that did not register with Hannibal? Would he ever be able to obtain a precise idea of what the boy could and could not do? 

Hannibal felt frustrated with the sense that he was always both over- and underrating Will's capability to learn and grow, perhaps even beyond his own control...

+


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. This chapter is odd. Not sure how I feel about it, or what you will. 
> 
> Warning: Hannibal is increasingly obsessive and deranged, with some misogynistic hypocritical thoughts in addition to his usual violent, sociopathic ones. Also contains infidelity, but not his this time. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments btw. They make my heart sing or some Hallmark crap like that. Seriously, thanks for reading and for sharing your thoughts, it makes me happy to know people are so engaged! 
> 
> Today I went to go see this heartbreaking documentary about the Hilton twins, conjoined vaudeville stars who had a wretchedly tragic life, full of abandonment, abuse and exploitation. So what I wanted was fluff, what I wrote was... this.

+

Alana rang that night to say she would be passing the night in Great Falls, Virginia, visiting an old friend. She planned to drive straight to the Children's Center the next morning for a meeting with Jack. Her voice seemed bright as ever, but strained beneath the surface. She was lying.

Hannibal, being a master of deception himself, detected this immediately, especially as Alana had never lied to him before and was transparently attempting to be her usual self. She was a woman who prided herself on honesty and open communication in all her relationships, particularly their marriage. 

What reason could Alana have to lie to him? She loved and trusted him above all others, more so as their relationship had shifted from his mentorship to a committed romantic and sexual attachment. What secret was she hoping to hide from him? Previously they had resolved any issues by discussing the subject calmly, without resorting to juvenile tactics or passive-aggression like so many other, lesser couples.

Hannibal did not sleep well that night, and was awakened at dawn, to a light rainfall pattering against the windowpanes. He padded downstairs and made himself an espresso before reaching for his iPad, opening the Tattler tab. Something about the bright splash of Freddie Lounds's byline, her smirking headshot, sparked a realization that made his blood churn with untapped violence. 

He vaulted upstairs, face set in steely determination, upturning Alana's discreet laundry hamper on the immaculate bedroom floor. He caught up the jewel-tone blouse she had worn yesterday, lifting it to the flare of his nostrils. There was no doubt. Beneath the odor of Alana's delicate floral perfume and her perspiration was the musky, saltwater scent of her vaginal fluid, of her arousal. It was fused together with the smell of a stranger, something curdled and saline and almost vulpine... 

All that was missing from the olfactory landscape painted in his mind was a curl of copper hair.

Hannibal threw the shirt to the floor, sickened, his pulse pounding. Never had he imagined to find his lovely Alana so repellant. He would never deign to touch her again. She was irreversibly fouled – what could she have been thinking! He was not disturbed by her infidelity – although he was not one to forgive a betrayal of this magnitude – or by her sudden erotic interest in the same sex, for he too had experienced sudden homosexual (and pederast) urges of late... But Freddie Lounds, of all women! 

She was a creature of rare beauty, but beneath the creamy skin lay nothing but filth. And when had she and Alana met, forged this bizarre bond? In his presence, Alana had only uttered her disgust at Freddie's brand of sensational journalism, tabloid-blogs for the internet age, feeding on the misery of freaks of nature...

Hannibal forced himself to calm, to slow his heart-rate, mask himself in cold serenity, despite dreams of slaughtering the pair like the sows they were. He showered and dressed mechanically, face expressionless. He would wait for Alana to call him; if she continued the obscene charade, he would play the oblivious cuckold obsessed with his pet case. 

Perhaps his all-consuming fixation with Will had driven her into another's arms, but it was unthinkable that Alana would not be tormented and rent with self-loathing at her adultery. She was not the sort to have affairs, even causal sex, lightly. 

+

Alana called at nine sharp, sounding alert with an edge of anxiety. 

'Hi, honey, hope things are ok at home. I've just gotten to the Center and am going up to see Jack now. Anything to report?'

Her false cheer made him despise her all the more. 

'Not at all. Will is asleep, and Abigail's at school. How was your visit with your old school chum?'

'Oh, fine. Nothing fancy – just catching up. It was nice to see her after so many years.'

'Sounds delightful. You must have had quite the early start this morning to be in Baltimore already.'

'Oh yeah, you know... Up at dawn and breakfast on the go and all that to beat the traffic!'

'Remind me, Alana, what was the name of your friend?'

'Oh, uh, it's Frankie. Her name's Frankie. You know, '70s baby...'

'Ah, yes, of course. How very quaint!'

'Well, I'd better go. Don't want to make Jack wait!'

'Oh no, we wouldn't want that.'

'Bye! Love you!'

Hannibal had to resist the impulse to smash the phone. He gritted his teeth, irritated at his own lack of control after years of flawless practice. 

Alana would not be sharing his bed again. 

+

How unusual it must have been for her to be intimate with someone else. She had been quite inexperienced, if not virginal, when they had first made love, so long ago. She had been so sensual, yet so unversed in the delights of the flesh. He had enjoyed bringing her to the point in which she lost herself to the oblivion of ecstasy. She had been pleased with their fidelity to each other, and had never taken another lover before this, but then neither had he. 

Happily, she was not so observant as to suspect something more disquieting in his relationship with Will.

The glimmer of fright before the plunge into pleasure was now mirrored in Will's eyes, although he was far more sensitive and animalistic a creature than Alana had ever been, child that he was. He was ruled by bodily sensations and moved by emotions, so deliciously malleable in Hannibal's hands. 

Perhaps he and Alana were drawn to acts of a taboo nature, although she and others would be quick to point out her lover was at least a consenting adult, if a creature like Freddie Lounds could be called human. 

While Alana was fucked by Freddie in a sordid hotel room, he and Will made love in the master bedroom – not an act of penetration, of mere mating, but exploration, for Hannibal an act of possession and for Will a benediction. 

Had she been reluctant, had she paused, had she been persuaded to shed her clothes like a snake sheds skin? Had it been the difference, the ugliness that had attracted her, addicted her, much like the darkness which bound Will and him together? 

Will resembled Alana and Abigail more than Hannibal did his own daughter, sharing their dark hair, pale eyes and fair skin, Alana's empathy and Abigail's aggression in a potent cocktail of perfection. 

Hannibal moved to Will's bedroom, watching him sleep with a vast hunger. One fist was curled on the pillow beside his curly head, long lashes inky on his cheeks, rosy mouth half-open in puffing little breaths. 

But Will was not the same, not a substitute for his wife or daughter, something only half his, the enigma of his mind elusively out of reach. What was it that caused him to crave the boy so? That he was not his family, not an animal, not Hannibal, nothing but himself. Whatever that may be.

+


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who'da thunk I'd add Tobias to the mix? But I just love the idea of him owning an upscale shoe store...
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting, you guys are the best.

Hannibal took Will to buy a fine pair of shoes from Budge's Footwear for the Discerning Gentleman in downtown Baltimore. He bought his own Italian leather brogues, imported from best cordwainers in Europe; it was time for the boy to be properly shod, no matter how he pouted or protested. 

Will kept close to Hannibal as they walked from the car to the store, holding his hand and darting glances about with equal interest and trepidation. He had only left the familiarity of the house a few times before, for various medical, dental and optical appointments and evaluations, but rarely to the heart of the city on the bustling streets. 

Hannibal opened the door to Tobias Budge's well-appointed small shop, a tinkling bell announcing their arrival in a manner so much less vulgar than a piercing mechanical ring. He had always enjoyed Tobias's presence, finding him a cordial, erudite man much like himself, with more than a hint of coiled darkness lurking beneath his smooth surface. If Hannibal was ever to feel attraction to an adult male, he had thought Tobias would have caught his eye, being an exquisite specimen of manhood, with ebony skin and feline eyes, accompanied by a voice like velvet. 

+

Tobias glided into view to welcome them, well-dressed as always. They shook hands.

'A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Lecter.'

'The pleasure is all mine. And please, call me Hannibal.'

They had played this little dance many times, but Hannibal saw a predatory glint in Tobias's eyes, focused on Will, who clung to his side. Hannibal drew a proprietary arm around Will in an overt display of ownership. Tobias's eyes missed nothing; he seemed at once amused and provoked. 

'And who is this charming little boy? I was not aware you had a son, Hannibal.'

'This is Will Graham. I am both his primary psychiatrist and legal guardian, and consider him to be my foster son.'

'I see. How very noble.'

Hannibal smiled, flashing the sharp white of his teeth.

Will meanwhile had left the safety of Hannibal's side to explore the shelves of the shop, stocked with men's shoes of every possible model. He seemed drawn to a particular pair of Chinese slippers which were an eye-catching Oriental blue, detailed in gold. While not backless, Hannibal knew they had no arch support at all, and were highly impractical for a child as active as Will – although he himself had a penchant for a flamboyant article of clothing. 

'I see you are weaning him from the infantile comfort of Crocs,' commented Tobias with a bemused look at the bright orange plastic monstrosities on Will's feet.  
'With little success – he does not suffer leather shoes on his feet, or socks of any kind. It is all we can do to prevent him from running about barefoot.'

Tobias moved slowly but intently across the room to where Will stood, mesmerized by the slippers, so as not to startle him. 

'They are pretty, aren't they? Would you like to try them on? How about you take those things off your feet so I can measure them, alright?'

He spoke softly, but Will did not seem afraid of this stranger. Hannibal felt an ugly clench of envy in his gut. 

'Come here, Will,' he instructed, patting to the bench seat beside him. Will obeyed him, but looked longingly at the shoes on the shelf. Hannibal bent down to slip the Crocs off the boy's feet, and Will flinched, fidgeting. His feet were marvels themselves, long and slender, somehow both artful and alien, with their elongated toes, although they caused Will's tread to be flat-footed and pigeon-toed. 

Tobias knelt before them as those performing a sacred rite, and grasped Will's right foot gently to place it on the cool metal of a Brannock Device. Will giggled at the strange feel, toes curling at the edge until Tobias held his foot straight to be measured. 

Hannibal watched them sharply, feeling a stab of rage at the sight of his boy's lovely little foot in the hands of another man, as absurd and primal a response as it was. But there no mistaking Tobias's rapt look, his delicate movement of Will. He was intrigued, and any kinship Hannibal had felt for Tobias dissipated rapidly. This development was not to be tolerated.

Tobias adhered an arch support to the bottom of the shoes before slipping them on Will's feet, bringing a mirror so the boy could admire his new footwear. Will moved his feet this way and that, before daring to take a step and walk around the room; at first he walked awkwardly, unused to the sensation of the silk and arch supports, but he beamed at Hannibal. 

With a tight smile, Hannibal reached for his wallet. They would not linger in the store, not for the butteriest leather brogues in the world. Tobias threw the Crocs in the garbage with satisfaction. As they made to leave, Tobias tousled Will's curls before Hannibal felt the impulse to strike his hand away. 

'You're something special, Will Graham,' he said solemnly. Will was shy and wide-eyed, clinging to Hannibal's coat. Hannibal heard the embedded message in Tobias's words: We will meet again. 

+

As they reached the car, Jack called. Hannibal was a touch crisper than usual, his eye on Will tapping his toes in the back seat. Jack was following up on his meeting with Alana, wanted Hannibal and Will to come in with his compiled observations as soon as convenient. Hannibal felt a surge of impatience at Jack's testosterone-fueled banalities, his need to micro-manage. At least Alana's meeting with him had not been part of her lies. 

After they arrived home, Will was able to ride Abigail's old bicycle up and down their driveway, which still had training-wheels attached. He was not concerned with the bright pink or purple colors of the bike or helmet he wore; at least he had not suffered gendered social conditioning since birth.  
Hannibal felt foolishly paranoid about allowing him to amuse himself outdoors, on a moving vehicle powered on his own speed, but jerky Will was remarkably well-balanced on the bicycle, falling only once or twice. It was a lovely afternoon, entirely dissonant with Hannibal's black mood. 

Will benefited from being en plein air; he was always much more serene and happy after a few hours outside, in the closest approximation to the nature he had known for so long. He had attempted to ride the bicycle before, but had been unable to move it without Hannibal's help, falling off with fright at the fast movement. But that afternoon he had no problems, pushing the pedals like an expert in his flimsy slippers. 

+

Hannibal had failed to remember his lunch engagement with Bedelia Du Maurier, an old friend and colleague of his, one of the few people in his entire life he trusted to share aspects of himself beneath the mask. They had not been in touch of late, as Hannibal had been so preoccupied with Will. No doubt Bedelia would have plenty to say on the subject. It was so unlike him, of his near-flawless memory, to forget an appointment of any kind. It had not happened for decades, since he was very young and undisciplined.

She had waited at the restaurant for an hour, dining alone, before she deigned to call him. 

'Why Hannibal, I felt sure you had been involved in a serious accident on the Beltway,' she said, her voice at once smoky and ice-rimmed. 

'You are correct in thinking this is uncharacteristic behavior for me, Bedelia. My profoundest apologies for your inconvenience.'

'You don't sound very guilt-stricken, Hannibal.'

'How very unlike me.' 

It was truly extraordinary, how swiftly and utterly Will had become his whole world.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't restrain myself, and wasn't sure I'd have time to write tomorrow, so here's another chapter. God, 30 chapters but not yet 30,000 words - but getting there!
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me on this long ride, folks. Your support is much appreciated. :)

If Hannibal could only spend more time alone with Will, they would truly begin to to make headway with Will uttering sounds, before moving on to formulating words with the sounds. He could murmur, stress sentences correctly to some degree, and he clearly comprehended a lot more than he could convey to others – he merely did not have the tools to express himself verbally. 

It was the matter of giving him implements to work with. With the passing of every day, Hannibal watched Will's longing to make himself understood grow. He ached at seeing his beloved so thwarted in his efforts. The boy wished to communicate with words, but he was unable to as yet. 

Alana informed Hannibal she planned to take Abigail with her to her parent's house that weekend, although they had visited them only weeks before. She was a weak liar for one who sought to deceive her own husband so often. Apparently her mother was ill. Hannibal had no doubt that she was taking Abigail with her to meet Freddie, bringing their daughter into her sordid love-nest. 

He could have so easily devastated her with the truth of her betrayal, but it would only interfere with his time with Will, and the boy's well-being took precedence. Hannibal had begun to consider the possibility that their sham of a marriage was not sustainable for the long-term; better they part before she discovered his true relations with Will – he would offer to give her alimony and full custody of Abigail should she wish. 

Then they could truly be alone together, undisturbed by others. 

Abigail was dropped off at Marissa's after school on Friday by Miriam; she would be picked up in the morning by her mother for their weekend rendezvous. Hannibal was liberated from their presence for a weekend, and planned to make the most of this undisturbed time with Will. He would buy sufficient foodstuffs so there would be no need to leave the house at all over the weekend – he had no desire to encounter any acquaintance and waste his precious time with tedious smalltalk. 

+

Will had turned on the lights in every room, for he enjoyed flicking the switches on and off, causing the house to illuminate like a golden mirage. They would have to be turned off.

During the day, they would keep to the back of the house, and should they use one of the front-facing rooms, Hannibal would draw the blinds to ensure their privacy. As far as anyone would know, the house lay empty. 

He did not have a precise procedure for training Will, but it was not necessary. Hannibal had every confidence in his own intuition, as opposed to any rigid principle of education. The most significant matter was that of play – play throughout the work periods, as well as amusement before and after. Will so desired to be well-behaved and capable, but he became over-worried and too provoked; it chanced being more harmful than constructive. 

Hannibal did not believe there to be anything amiss in Will's inability to make his tongue and lips comply. It was only that he had never had cause to restrain them so attentively before. 

+

Hannibal gave Will a haircut on Saturday, his first since his time at the Children's Center. The boy's hair grew in thick, soft and dark unkempt curls which Hannibal had a particular fondness for, but Will's hair had grown so long it flopped into his face. He wriggled and scowled and fluttered his eyes with panic, like any other child at the hairdresser's. Those were the moments Hannibal held dear, when Will was as much the same as other children as he was unusual, a rare multi-faceted gem. 

Will gazed at the locks which dropped in his lap, lifting a curl and bringing it near his face. He smelled it, then whimpered, touching his head. Hannibal watched him come to the connection. It was quite amusing to observe. 

Afterwards, Will fell asleep, as he normally did while Hannibal wrote his notes. He awakened him from his nap an hour later, Will muzzily blinking open his luminous blue eyes. Discerning Hannibal, he beamed, holding out his arms to be picked up. 

'Papa,' he said, voice faint and high-pitched. 

+


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter some of you have been waiting for, where sparks fly... Alana's OOC, but it was fun to write her flipping out. 
> 
> On another note, what are you guys watching to tie you over until Hannibal's next season? I love Orphan Black and Orange is the New Black as well, but there are only so many times you can rewatch things... Any recommendations? (Because obviously I need to spend more time watching TV!)

Hannibal was in Will's room, helping him get dressed after his nap when he heard Alana crying for him. It was four-forty-five, long before she had said she'd be back from the office, but there she was, shrieking like a banshee, roaring. Hannibal had never heard her shout like that before, and hurried downstairs. 

She was holding Abigail, who was caked in dirt and sobbing. He had last saw Abigail in the living room watching television only fifteen minutes before. The moment Alana caught sight of Hannibal, she attacked, spiting out curses like a savage. He barely recognized the woman before him.

'Hannibal, where the fuck have you been? Do you know where I discovered Abigail? Do you have any idea what could have happened to her? You're supposed to be watching her! Is this the way you take care of our only child? What's wrong with you? What the fuck kind of fantasy land are you living in?'

She took an unsteady step towards him. Hannibal had never before felt the urge to strike her, struggling to bite down the urge. He was not the sort of man to commit acts of domestic violence against his family, despite Alana's increasingly provocative manner. 

Abigail's face crumpled, skin creasing. She crushed her mother's blouse in her hands, clutching to her and wailing.

Alana glowered with impatience, lifting a hand as if to hit her daughter. Hannibal watched, fascinated – would Alana truly turn her rage against Abigail? But she did not complete the motion, letting her hand fall as she released Abigail to the ground, covering her face with her hands, beginning to weep. 

'Abigail was on the wall in the backyard, Hannibal,' she screamed. 'Do you know how high that fall would be? She was standing on top of it, hardly able to stay steady. She could've dropped and broke her neck. The Lyman's have concrete on the other side, and we have prickled bushes on ours! And stones in our garden! Where the hell were you, Hannibal? Is this what you do every day, spend all your time with the boy who isn't even your own... Do you just not care what happens to Abigail, your own fucking daughter? So you just let her do whatever the hell she wants? Well? Is that what you do?'

Hannibal stood silent under the onslaught of her anger, a kind of violence he had never believe Alana capable of. Her importance in his life was no more, non-existent, and had been for some time. On some level she understood that and resented him for it. Hannibal was more than prepared to fight her, and would win any battle she waged. The matter of Abigail was ultimately of little significance to him. Perhaps she had never been. 

+

Abigail stood squalling, neither parent paying any attention as Alana continued to screech and Hannibal stood with arms crossed, dignified and unflappable even as he seethed with irritation. Overt hostility was not one of his preferred methods. Better to wait until Alana exhausted herself and became embarrassed by her juvenile shouting match. 

Finally she seemed drained, face drawn and pale, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Hannibal turned and poured himself a Scotch. 

'Oh Alana, do not forget I am not the only parental figure here. You have equal responsibility in rearing Abigail, while I am additionally responsible for the well-being of Will. You seem to be frequently absent of late... So many trips to your parents, to see old friends and colleagues. Such a dutiful daughter, if not wife and mother.'  
'You shut up, Hannibal. I'm tired of your mind games, your emotional blackmail,' but her voice wavered with the uncertainty tainting her memory. 

'Come now, Alana, let's not be childish and spew untrue accusations at each other. I only suggest, as one who knows you very well, that perhaps you do feel guilty for being so distracted, away so often, that you are projected your own self-reproach onto another. Abigail has missed you so; perhaps you'd better bring her to see your parents along more often?'

And here came aid he could not have orchestrated better himself – Abigail as his unwitting ally in defeating her mother.

'But we didn't see Grandma and Grandpa on the trip. We saw a nice lady called Freddie and she gave me red hot candy and let me watch TV while she and Mommy were busy.'

'Abigail! Don't lie about your mother! You know we went to see Grandma and Grandpa, right, honey?' Alana's voice was equally appalled and insinuating. Bright red spots burned high on her cheeks. 

'Oh? A nice lady called Freddie? I was not aware that you and Ms. Lounds were so well-acquainted, Alana, or that you felt it appropriate to bring Abigail to meet her.'

Hannibal's voice was smooth and dangerous, and Alana swallowed, throat bobbing. 

'I don't know what she's talking about, where she got the idea about meeting Freddie Lounds, of all people! But you know how imaginative she is...' She laughed, thinly. 

'I did notice, as I did last week's load of laundry, that there was a sharp smell of cinnamon, and a few strands of red hair...'

'So what? Maybe Abigail met a little girl with red hair and candy, I don't know...' Alana was increasingly sharp and desperate as her web of lies imploded. 

'Mommy, why aren't you telling the truth to Papa?' 

'Abigail, go to your room! This is a conversation between me and your father!'

Abigail stormed upstairs; Alana wrung her hands, eyes both defiant and pleading. 

Hannibal said no more, satiated and satisfied. She was so easy to destroy, had fallen apart in his hands.

'Hannibal, please –' 

He held up his hand, playing at revulsion when he felt only the amusement of a victor. 

'That's enough, Alana.' 

She turned and crept up to bed. If she knew what was best for her, she would sleep in a guest room tonight. 

+

Both Abigail and Will sobbed themselves to sleep. Abigail had slammed her door in a fury, as Hannibal discovered Will had seen the entire ugly scene from beneath the sideboard in the dining room. The swinging door connecting the kitchen and dining room was ajar and he had watched them through the gap. 

He had his hands clapped over his ears. No doubt inside his skull Alana was still shrieking, sounds erupting in his head, seeping out of his eyes as tears. No child should have to bear witness to such obscenities. Hannibal clasped him to his chest, vowing such raving hysterics would never occur under his roof again.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you enjoy this chapter although it may seem anticlimactic after the last. Alana and Hannibal will separate, but not quite yet...
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments and suggestions - I haven't had the chance to go through and reply to all the ones on the last chapter, but I wanted to thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts!

+

Everything was still, the house immersed in blessed silence. Alana had set off for Freddie's, making no attempt to hide her destination. Abigail was at Marissa's, likely having dinner. Marissa's mother gushed about Abigail and how she was always welcome at their house, fluttering her eyelashes at Hannibal in futility. He took her up on her offer, sending Abigail home with Marissa at every possible opportunity. 

Hannibal and Will spent most of the day studying and – perhaps a touch excessively – practicing sounds. Sounds alone, as components of words. Will's name. 'Papa,' his first and favorite utterance that never ceased to soften Hannibal. 

Hannibal spoke quickly and thrillingly as a bolt of lightening, a sharp contrast to his usual sedate speech. Will paid close attention, struggling to comprehend his sentences. His attempts to understand affected Hannibal so keenly he had to repel the desire to catch the boy into his arms and kiss him as firmly and tenderly as he could. 

+

He could not recall ever experiencing such profound, fathomless love for another, surely not for Abigail or Alana. When they took a break from working, Will insisted on holding Hannibal's hand for a whole hour, without releasing – he accompanied Hannibal to the washroom and clasped his other, free hand over his eyes, peeking through his fingers with a cheeky grin. He made Hannibal do the same while he relieved himself; Hannibal was amused by his belated virginal modesty. 

They desired to live within one flesh. It was of utmost importance that every sensation and thought moved through them both, as one mind and one body. Hannibal felt certain they shared everything, for though Will was mute and a child, his eyes held an ancient consciousness, enigmatic as the ocean. It was irrational, unrealistic, but it was no illusion, without pretense or deception like every other human relationship Hannibal had established in the past. Alana and Abigail were nothing but disappointments, their existence in his life little but meaningless irritation.

But with Will, Hannibal experienced unprecedented moments of genuine closeness. He had never been so intimate with anyone, not even as a child with his beloved Mischa. After the horror of her death and the bloody transformation of his own life, he had held no hope for feeling much of anything, apart from a superior pride in his own accomplishments. He had been reborn into a creature of darkness, forged in the crucible of madness. 

Had there ever truly been a time in his life when his first instinct had not been to tell an untruth, to hide himself beneath an unthreatening, professorial skin? Life was more tolerable when one passed as a pillar of society, a success both professionally and personally. Even if at times the deception grew so tedious to maintain and to bear. 

Will recognized him, the stark predator beneath his mask, and was subdued but unafraid. Hannibal took joy in the reflection of himself he saw in the mirror of Will's eyes, unknowable to all but this child. He could not be more pleased, were Will his own creation. 

+

Will stuttered and struggled to speak, with little development. Being unable to fulfill his own mind's demands set his teeth on edge, but at the very least they spent the entire day and night together. Soon Hannibal would ensure that Will would have unlimited access to the house, make it truly his home. 

Miriam gave Abigail a lift from Marissa's in the early afternoon, and once home, she did little about talk about her sleepover and how Marissa's parents had different flavors of pancake syrup that were red and blue. Unspeakably vile concoctions, but what she chose to ingest was no longer Hannibal's concern. She talked at length, quickly and incessantly. Hannibal could not recall being more vexed in her presence. To think he had contributed to the creation and rearing of this obnoxious child!

The weekend had been so delightfully peaceful before her arrival. Should Will ever learn to speak, it was doubtful he would be such a ceaseless prattler like his foster sister. Eventually Abigail purged herself of chatter, after delineating precisely where she had slept in Marissa's room, what they ate for dinner the night before, what movies they had watched, how their shower smelled of mold, and that their cat was at the veterinarian’s getting fixed. 

By the time Alana returned, Abigail was ensconced on the couch, watching a ghastly laugh-track show on the Disney channel. Hannibal felt his loathing for them both burn more brightly, although Alana was not in a temper for confrontation. Hannibal and Will retired for the evening, more than happy to leave the others behind. 

On the stairs, Will slipped his small hand into Hannibal's with a smile. Hannibal swept him up into his arms and carried him off to bed. 

+


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sexual acts depicted through opaque lyricism. AKA purple prose instead of porn, my apologies to everyone.

+

It did not enter Hannibal's mind until the following morning that Marissa's mother Lenore might mention to Alana that she kept having Abigail for sleepovers. But he refused to fret about what that foolish woman might say to his wife – she was likely too enamored with him to be very friendly with Alana in any case. Fortunately, Alana made no comment on the matter, or else blood would have been drawn, and not his own. Not after that ghastly scene she had caused a number of nights before. 

Hannibal went upstairs, leaving Alana to do the dishes, for she would feel guilty leaving a loaded sink of dirty plates for Miriam to clean the next day. She must have heard him leave the room, but did not inquire where he was going or what he was doing. They no longer slept in the same bed; Hannibal possessed the master bedroom alone, now. 

If Alana saw the light linger beneath his door far into the night, she would assume he was reading one of his Victorian tomes, or perhaps Kafka, before going to sleep. She watched her mindless television shows with Abigail downstairs, gave her a bath, assisted her in changing into her pajamas, read her a bedtime story, and tucked her into bed. A daily routine which was of little interest to Hannibal, as these very banal activities became moments of intense intimacy with Will. He had no tolerance for Abigail's narcissistic blabber or Alana's self-righteousness. 

+

He lay with his head on Will's small stomach, still soft with baby fat, listening to the sounds of his body's interior landscape, the bubbling and gurgling of his vocal organs. Then he cradled Will, moving him to and fro, mimicking the rocking of the ocean. The boy pushed Hannibal so that he could recline on his stomach, firm with discipline against the spread of middle-age. Will hid his head in the space beneath Hannibal's chin, his breaths puffing against the flesh on his throat, his little hands clasping him, playing with Hannibal's sleek grey-blond hair until it was as unkempt as his own curls. 

Will lifted his head, regarding Hannibal with lips spread wide in a beatific smile, pupils blown black, masking all but a thin rim of blue iris. Hannibal chuckled at his face, grasping his hair playfully, but when he laid his hand on the Will's head, the touch felt changed, the air charged. The boy did not struggle but sprawled across his chest, heart fluttering like a bird in the cage of his ribs, shaking in his arms, pale skin feverish. 

Will seemed to mutter something imperceptible, Hannibal lowered his head to listen and their mouths met in a kiss. His skin had the tangy scent of boyish perspiration, an earthy musk in the tender furrows of his armpits and between his legs. Hannibal had the sensation of holding a wounded butterfly in his hand, wings weakly beating a fine iridescent powder... Will seemed afraid, eyes closed and mouth grasping for the hot liquid of Hannibal's tongue. 

He felt the quickening of hunger, a molten heat, the beautiful creature trembling against him provoking an affection so potent and profound Hannibal thought his flesh might split open, releasing the predator beneath. The boy's tender hurt gave way to pleasure and delight; for the first time Hannibal Lecter made love. 

After, Will slept, nestled kitten-soft against Hannibal's side. He resembled an infant, mouth agape, cheeks rosy, dark curls wild clinging to his dewy temples, thick lashes aglitter in the fading afternoon light. His skin was moon-pale, damp, the most exquisite child in existence, asleep in his bed. He was so angelic, laid across the bedding in a picture of innocence, body so slight, so sylphlike in comparison to Hannibal's adult bulk, yet uncrushed and uncorrupted.

They lay together, limbs entwined, Will asleep and Hannibal deep in thought, in utter tranquility. 

+


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I just got into film school so I'm really pumped. 
> 
> Bedelia's a boss bitch. 
> 
> Enjoy.

+

Bedelia left a message on Hannibal's phone, inquiring whether he would be available for an appointment at her downtown office at eleven that morning. She had called the night before, but Hannibal had been otherwise occupied with Will. Hannibal called her back immediately, smoothly apologetic for having missed her call, as he'd retired early last night. 

Her voice was even as always, but he was well-aware she knew he was late to bed and early to rise like clockwork, and that he was always punctual with returning missed calls. Bedelia did not comment on his unusual behavior of late, but was likely to parse his untruths, seeking the holes within his web. Perhaps a touch of understated intimidation was in order. 

In her well-appointed office, they sat facing each other like distorted reflections. Hannibal had often thought he would have been much like Bedelia, had he been born a woman. Her poise, her steely eyes, her mask-like face... But she was not quite so vicious as Hannibal could be, and he sensed she knew that very well. 

They chatted lightly about the current exhibitions of Titian and Degas at the National Gallery; Hannibal had not seen them here himself, but in the greatly superior museums of art in Europe, but perhaps Will would appreciate the canvases of man-made beauty. 

'I saw Alana at the opening in the company of Freddie Lounds,' said Bedelia, watching his face closely.

'Oh? I would not have thought Ms. Lounds fond of the higher arts.'

'Hidden depths, perhaps.'

'Perhaps.' Hannibal paused, there was no need to avoid mentioning the matter. Bedelia likely already knew, or suspected. 

'My wife and Ms. Lounds have recently forged a bond of an intimate nature.' 

The sole indication of her reaction to this revelation was a blink of the eye. 

'Ah. How long have you been aware of their affair?' 

'A matter of weeks, now. The very idea seemed too laughable to be true.'

'You seem to feel more disgusted than devastated towards Alana's infidelity.'

Hannibal sighed, rolling his shoulders elegantly. 

'I had suspected for a time, so the confirmation was less astounding than entirely absurd.'

'I imagine you feel betrayed. Was there another involved?'

'What are you suggesting, Dr. Du Maurier? That I've engaged in an affair myself?'

'I am not in the habit of accusing my patients, but I myself have noticed that you have been... distracted of late.'

'My current case, the feral child Will Graham, demands much of my time and attention. My wife was fully aware and supportive of the decision to take full responsibility for his care.'

'There is no need to persuade me of your motives towards the boy, but as you yourself have acknowledged, he does require much of your personal care. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that your wife and daughter felt threatened by his presence in their home, his place in your affections.'

Hannibal gave her an arch smile, bashful as a boy, his response calculatingly distorted, though he felt deadened inside under the scrutiny of her penetrating gaze. 

'Bedelia, I almost think you know me too well,' he said, glibly.

'I know only what you choose to reveal to me, as you are well-aware. Otherwise, I have my own observations, nothing more.'

'And may I ask what you have observed of me?'

'You seem to be uncharacteristicly ill-at-ease with me, and your usual patterns of behavior have changed. You have shut down your own psychiatric practice to focus on a single case study, you seem to be more elusive, and little interested in anything besides young Will Graham. If I didn't know you better, Hannibal, I might say you were hiding something, and not very well.'

Hannibal's dark eyes flashed sharply. He admired Bedelia's astuteness and daring in speaking to him so frankly about himself, but equally felt unsettled by her knowledge. It had not occurred to him that his obsession was so conspicuous to those outside his own family. She did not seem to suspect anything untoward in his relationship with Will, but it may be only a matter of time before she understood the depth of his preoccupation. 

This interest of hers would have to be curtailed before it went any further. He looked up to find Bedelia staring at him intently. 

'Do you think your wife feels fine about being unfaithful, or do you sense she feels some self-reproach?'

'I would have though she would be consumed with guilt, but I feel I do not know her as I thought I did. I can only hope she feels gratified by her actions, as they have irreversibly destroyed our marriage.'

Bedelia listened attentively, and it occurred to Hannibal that found the entire matter tantalizing. The impeccable, intellectual Dr. Lecter cuckolded by his own wife. There was an element of malicious schadenfreude beneath her glass-smooth exterior. 

'I like to meet Will, with your permission, of course.'

'Perhaps. He is shy around strangers.' Hannibal did not have the slightest intention to bring Will to meet Bedelia. Whatever she surmised privately, she would know once she set eyes on Will. 

'As far as I am aware, Alana has never been adulterous before. I wouldn't have thought she had the audacity.' He spoke as if confiding his heartbreak. 

'How little we know the ones we love.' 

Hannibal almost smirked at her platitude. 

'Everyone an abyss in themselves.'

+


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Talking: Take Two. Sign Language.

+

Abigail spent every afternoon after school at Marissa's now. The sole nuisance of the situation was that it irritated Hannibal to tolerate Marissa's mother, Lenore, always attempting to work out whether Hannibal was as open to extra-marital activities as his wife. 

He both supported and deterred her advances; the former because it was to his advantage that he seemed responsive to adult women of his own age, indulging in a friendly flirtation that would go nowhere, for obvious reasons. Should she continue to press the matter, he would make it absolutely clear that he was utterly devoted to his wife, whatever her own behavior.

It always amused Hannibal to feign feelings that were opposite of his own, to play at being someone who never existed. No one had the faintest idea of his true self, apart from Will, and perhaps Bedelia, on one or two occasions. 

+

Which each day that passed, Will grew more powerful, with a keen intensity in improving his abilities. At times, it seemed as if his spine was no longer bent at all. It was almost difficult to recall a time when his head would shake incessantly. It shook no longer, only when he wanted to communicate his abject disapproval. 

This greatly pleased Hannibal, but not nearly as much as Will's developing capacity to fulfill his instructions, such as 'bring me the house key,' when the key was in a different room, or 'close the door' and 'give me a kiss.' 

That very morning Hannibal had left Will in the living room to go to the kitchen. He placed a block of soap on the chopping board, a serviette on the ground, a pen beside the serviette, and a ruby-red pomegranate on the granite counter. When he returned to the living room, he bid Will to go into the kitchen and bring him the soap, the serviette, the pen and the pomegranate. 

The boy appeared anxious at Hannibal's request. Hannibal restated his directions, informing him where he would find each object. Away he went; Hannibal listened to him rooting around the kitchen. He was a touch troubled at the thought that perhaps he was demanding too much of Will, forcing him too quickly beyond his comfort zone. 

In the midst of Hannibal's internal debate, Will returned, scrambling to hold everything in his arms. From the expression on his face, Hannibal knew instinctively that he'd recalled every item. His boy smiled broadly, giggled, and crushed himself against Hannibal, rubbing against him like a self-satisfied kitten. Hannibal allowed Will to rut against him as if in heat, becoming titillated himself at his success. 

A dark thought crossed his mind, shadowing his pleasure: Will might never be able to speak. His difficulty was perhaps entirely physical, an inability to command his own lips and vocal cords. 

+

Hannibal examined one of the books on sign language in his library, acquired over many years of academic study and professional practice. He labored with Will whenever they had an opportunity to be alone. He was attempting to teach the boy the hand sign for 'I want', then the gestures for diverse items 'newspaper', 'book', 'ring', 'shirt', 'shoes' and 'suitcase'. 

Will's struggle reminded him of his own struggle to learn the English language, as a young man many years before, his Slavic tongue clumsy at articulating English words. Perhaps it would have been best to use sign language from the very beginning. Will did not understand immediately, staring at Hannibal's strange hand motions with a perplexed look, but he began to catch on.

Hannibal utilized the signs continually, in the manner he had spoken to him before – although he continued to verbalize as well – at the same time demonstrating to Will how to make the signs himself by positioning his hand. That bit tended to make Will laugh, much in the way he chortled when Hannibal had formed his lips for speaking. It was back to the drawing board, only this time Hannibal knew he would succeed. 

+


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains even more fucked-up family dynamics, a phone call from Jack, and Hannibal's increasingly homicidal thoughts.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

There was a message from Jack on Hannibal's phone, the first, as he had made it a point to always take dear Uncle Jack's calls before. He wanted an update on Hannibal's plan of action regarding Will, he sounded old and bewildered, nothing like the aggressive bulldog of a man he had been only months ago. Jack acted as if he were sending a rambling, obscenity-laden missive to someone entrapped within a pit. 

'Hannibal? Dr. Lecter? Goddamn it, Hannibal, pick up the fucking phone! I know you're at home with Will, at least you better be given the State's hefty grant... How's the kid doing? Bella... is doing better. She, uh, she sends her love to Alana and Abigail. If you don't plan on showing your face at the Children's Bureau any time soon, I could go for one of the Lecter-Bloom's legendary dinners... Remember to keep me up to date on that Graham boy. Give me a call. Jack.'

He paused on the line, as if reluctant to sign off, listening for any indication of Hannibal's presence. 

Good old Jack, lost at the thought of a life without his beloved wife, the cancer-stricken Bella, apparently now in remission due to chemotherapy treatments. So usefully distracted from Hannibal's unconventional activities regarding Will's progress.

The message was really much too amusing to delete. 

+

Abigail shrieked at midnight, not only once, but again and again. Hannibal and Alana rushed to her room, clasping and shaking her, but their daughter would not awaken, did not cease her screams. Hannibal attempted to smack her awake, but did not succeed in bringing her round. Abigail's eyes were fully open, but they were as unseeing and grey as pebbles.

Alana was weeping by the time she stopped shrieking. Abigail asked them why they were in her bedroom in the middle of the night, but was so dazed she fell asleep once more in a matter of minutes. The following morning she recalled nothing of what had occurred the night before. Not a single thing. 

All of the disturbance awoke Will, as Hannibal had been worried it would. He required soothing by the reassurance of Hannibal's presence lying beside him. It was daybreak before the boy slept once more.

+

The next day contained far too many phone calls for Hannibal's liking, including one from an irritable Tobias – it seemed he would be unable to attend the opening night of the opera's autumn season, as he had urgent business requiring his attention in San Francisco. Tobias had been a regular attendee of Hannibal and Alana's post-opening night soirees for a number of years, but Hannibal, while happy to hear Tobias would be on the opposite side of the country, had little time for planning such elaborate gatherings. Certainly he would not be planning an evening party with his wife in the near future.

He then had to pay various bills, as his family's lifestyle was quite expensive, and had to deposit cheques at the bank, loathe as he was to leave Will behind. Then rug cleaning service called for the soiled Persian carpet in the dining-room, stains courtesy of Abigail and Will, then the plumber to fix a clogged commode downstairs. 

As Hannibal now worked exclusively at home, he had to deal with all such trivial domestic matters, all of which encroached on his precious time with Will. He failed to fetch the dry cleaning, as Miriam usually dealt with such tasks but was away that week, and Alana was enraged that she would not have her favored blue dress suit for an important appointment the next day.

Hannibal could not help but feel a touch of schadenfreude in the face of her anger – he was no hausfrau to be ordered about, and the sooner she recognized this, the better off she would be.

+

Abigail urinated in bed that night. She had never done so before, past her diaper-wearing days as an infant. Hannibal felt revulsion at the sharp, soul smell of her incontinence, and felt a sudden urge to slap her. He restrained himself with a shudder at the thought of touching her piss-damp skin. Will had stopped wetting the bed mere months after his arrival in the Lecter household, but his nocturnal enuresis had never provoked such contempt in Hannibal, perhaps as his daughter's bedwetting was a sign of regression, while Will's was the opposite, a starting point in his physical development. 

Alana seemed conflicted with the manner in which to deal with it, but she insisted Hannibal assist her in stripping and cleaning the sullied sheets. They did so in silence, with Hannibal sustaining himself by thinking of how simple it would be to crush her throat and stifle her screams.

+


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, guys, but I have pink eye and feel awful. Nevertheless, hope you enjoy.

+

Hannibal taught Will the sign for 'I want', and found him utilizing it frequently to communicate his wishes. He gazed at Hannibal directly and self-assuredly made the sign, before exasperation set in as he did not know the sign for the object he desired. He eventually drew Hannibal downstairs to the kitchen and demonstrate that what he wanted was a cookie, one of Abigail's Girl Scout Thin Mints. Hannibal invented a sign for Thin Mints on the spot, grudging as he was as to their taste and quality, and Will practiced the sign enthusiastically.

Another day Hannibal would try to train him in the signs for other items, for although they seemed to be experiencing a spell of success, when Hannibal attempted to teach him the signs of other foodstuffs, such as milk, bread, eggs and cheese, Will was unable to make the association. 

It was as if he had abruptly lost the capacity to comprehend that the sign symbolized the object. Surprisingly, when Hannibal returned to the sign for cookie, it was for naught. Perhaps it was merely due to the fact he had a moment ago consumed the cookie and did not want another, so did not understand why he would make the sign for one again. There was little way of knowing for certain. He could only hope that it would not be a repetition of his failure to teach Will sounds.

+

Much as Hannibal turned to Will when troubled, so Will, when distressed, came to him for comfort – irrespective of whether Alana and Abigail were present or not. This was acceptable so long as he was cautious not to be too physically affectionate. Yet Hannibal found himself becoming more brazen as time went on, having little care where his female family members were concerned. Once afternoon Will narrowly avoided being seen, nude, in Hannibal's bed by Abigail. Fortunately she was easily distracted by Hannibal, who was dressed and drew her out of the master bedroom. When he returned, he found Will on the brink of tears and shaking like a leaf. His temple was blackened by a bruise from where he had struck his head in his haste to hide beneath the bed. 

Will patted his forehead, wincing, and Hannibal caught him in his arms for a kiss on the throbbing spot. He offered his face to be kissed again, and Hannibal complied until Will cherubically dimpled with a smile. 

Hannibal felt ambivalent at the thought that banging his head indicated that his boy was growing taller. Will's head had not reached beyond the height of Hannibal's elbow, before, but now he touched Hannibal's bicep, and would soon crown at his shoulder. 

Will's body may grow, but Hannibal was reassured that his mind and heart would always be in his thrall. 

Jack called before dinner, irate that Hannibal had not returned his call of a few days ago. Hannibal expressed regret which he did not feel in the slightest, but Jack seemed both weary and suspicious, transparently attempting to make him feel guilt-stricken for not contacting him more frequently. Hannibal had never felt more unrepentant in his life.

+


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've pretty much massacred Alana's character in this fic, but I don't actually hate her in canon. She's just of much less interest than the others. 
> 
> Yay, passive-aggressive!Hannibal and goofy!Will!
> 
> I turned 21 and feel irreversibly adult. Except that I'm writing 30k of fanfic. Yolo?
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy.
> 
> EDIT: 'mein kleiner Schatz' should mean 'my little sweetheart' in German. Thanks to Lady_SiriusCrowBlack for the proper translation!

+

When Alana returned on Saturday – she frequently spent the night away these days – Hannibal ensured he awoke her the next morning, obnoxiously early at five am by tramping down the stairs and banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. Such juvenile passive-aggressive tactics he had never thought he'd stoop to use, much less on Alana. 

Evidently she was unable to fall back asleep from her rude awakening, and was notably irritable, her once-silken voice gruff with lack of sleep once she finally made an appearance amongst the living. Hannibal had long ago discovered that a good night's slumber was something his wife could not do without, lest she cease to function entirely the following week.

Once, when still young, he had thought he could not do without a number of hours of deep sleep either, but the years had proven he could perform as well, if not better, fortunately without suffering the delirium that plagued most insomniacs. Thus he could well afford to structure his current existence around Will's waking hours. 

After Hannibal laid Will down to doze, he made every effort to prevent Alana and Abigail from disturbing the boy's rest. Will appeared so snug and contented, tucked in to bed, Hannibal felt reluctant to leave him. Sometimes he would watch Will sleep, marveling at the creature in his possession – a blue-eyed, dark-curled moppet who resembled nothing so much as one of Raphael's angelic putti, such was his unspoiled innocence and beauty... 

Abigail now split her time outside of school with Miriam, or at Marissa's; Hannibal found himself disbelieving that he had ever been invested in her life, her rearing – he had room for only one in his affections, one that was she no longer. 

+

Downstairs, Hannibal noted that it was time for the household's laundry to be gathered and washed, taken to the cleaners by Miriam. A large heap of clothes lay beside the overflowing bathroom hamper, Abigail's bed linen, once again fouled in her sleep, stray soiled clothing which were long past due to be washed, Will's garments mixed together with Abigail's, his filthy sheets and towels. He could identity the odor of Will's perspiration, the soaps and creams Hannibal applied to his body, the scent of his semen, from nocturnal emissions only, not their night sex play, which Hannibal was careful to separate and wash himself when alone in the house.

Hannibal took great please in wakening Alana Monday morning. She had been sleeping in of late, a far cry from the sweet-tempered, diligent woman he had married. He drew the drapes, switched on the radio and cried her name with considerable relish. She battled to remained immersed in sleep, her long eyelashes coated and crusty with rheum. She was like a teenager who loathed being awoken, grumbling with extreme displeasure. 

When she eventually dragged herself out of bed, Alana was undeniably hungover, gazing at the ground, her eyes red with inflammation. From where Hannibal stood, observing his wreck of a spouse, her sclera were completely pink. She complained when he reached over to strip the ripe-smelling sheets off the bed. The lacy negligee she wore was stained with night sweat, and so translucent he could see the darkness of her nipples beneath the material. 

'Fuck you, Hannibal. Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone and let me sleep?'

He did not deign to give her a response.

Alana stripped herself of the negligee, glaring at Hannibal as she threw it at him. She stood nude, arms crossed over her breast, long hair ruffled with sleep. 

With a look of distaste, he let the slip fall to the floor and left the room without a word.

+

As Hannibal relieved himself in the bathroom, he noticed the heap of clothes outside the hamper move just a touch. Will. After meticulously washing and drying his hands, he heard a breath drawn behind him, a faint inhale and exhale. Hannibal lunged like a great sleek predator, shucking the sheets away to see Will cowering in the center of the pile, carefully concealing himself with clothes. 

He had a pair of Hannibal's black briefs set on his head like a crown. The boy smiled embarrassedly, as if half-frightened Hannibal would be angry with him. Instead, he felt a near-uncontrollable urge to laugh, tempering his amusement with a slight smirk, drawing Will into his arms with a kiss.

'What on earth are you doing, mein kleiner Schatz?'

Will would fulfill his potential; it was merely a matter of time. Hannibal knew it deep in his bones. 

+


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is dark, disgusting and disturbing. It contains a child playing with its own feces, not in a fetishistic sexual way, but as a manifestation of a stress disorder. 
> 
> Thanks to Lady_SiriusCrowBlack, who corrected my faulty German in the last chapter. My German relatives would be appalled by my attempts, but I appreciate my readers' sharp eyes!

+  
Of late, Abigail persisted in speaking in an infantile manner. Hannibal and Alana were both at a loss with how to shake her of this obnoxious habit by instructing her to stop. Hannibal attempted to disregard her and her mother entirely, yet one night at the dinner table Abigail refused to eat on her own, demanding that Hannibal chop up her pork tenderloin and feed her.

He declined, repulsed at the very idea of feeding her like an invalid or a baby bird. Abigail was nearly a decade old; she knew very well how to use a knife and fork to feed herself with the most refined table etiquette. Alana agreed that to give in to Abigail's demands would be dreadfully regressive for her.

+

The following morning, Alana departed later than usual, allowing her to bring Abigail along to deliver her to Miriam's for pre-school tutoring in language arts. Hannibal was delighted that they left together, alleviating him of any presence but Will's. He resented having to make any specific outings for Abigail when such excursions could be easily undertaken by either Alana or Miriam. Increasingly, he felt nothing but malice for his legal family. 

Alana did little in the house but read articles and emails on her laptop, many presumably written by her vile lover, Freddie. Surely she could do such trivial things elsewhere? Perhaps a touch more pressure was needed to make the home environment even more toxic to her sensibilities. Alternatively, they should make a clean break, separate and divorce in as expedited a proceeding as possible, as their finances were already kept apart in different accounts so that aspect would be less disorderly than most.

Hannibal deliberated over the future whilst making beignets, Will's favorite breakfast fare, from a recipe indexed only in his memory from a small pâtisserie in Paris. He took great pride in crafting their delicate, crisp brown exteriors and creamy, custard-like choux paste studded with fresh raspberries, and was even indulgent in Will greedily wolfing them down.

He began to climb the stairs to fetch Will for breakfast at the same time as the boy came trotting downstairs. When Will saw Hannibal approaching, calling his name, he made a warbling sound in response, rushing towards him. As Hannibal arrived at the landing, Will reached the bottom of the second flight of steps, skirting the corner simultaneously. Hannibal bent to catch Will as he leapt into his arms, throwing his arms around his neck. They stood for a moment, embracing, Will clinging to him as if seeking shelter. 

Hannibal had never felt so stirred with emotion, almost an adoration for the boy he held close. He had never worshiped another being apart from himself. 

+

Mid-afternoon, after Abigail had been dropped home by Miriam, Hannibal went upstairs for more glass jars, as he was in the process of making lingonberry and bilberry jam. He had left Will in the kitchen, mixing and licking the traces on one of the large pots. The television blared from behind the closed living room French doors, in which he presumed Abigail was watching one of her cloying Disney Channel shows, but when Hannibal passed her bedroom on the second floor, he heard strange noises emanating from within.

As he drew nearer, he perceived the sound of his daughter's voice. She was crooning to herself, not anything in particular, but fragments of Disney princess songs. He opened the door to see what she was doing. 

'What are you up to?' he asked harshly.

Abigail was seated on the ground at the far end of the room, spreading something on the wall. His nose identified it immediately. 

She caught her breath as she turned to face him, her blue eyes icy, her small face unrepentant. 

Abigail was finger-painting on the wall not with watercolors, but with feces. Her own. 

A pile of excrement sat on the floor beside her. She sat in some, with more dribbling down her fingers.

+


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forty chapters, what what. Whatever happened to baby Abigail? All this and more answered within!
> 
> Sorry for not replying to your delightful comments, I am a horrible human being, but I treasure them all. Plus I figure y'all would rather I use my spare time to write a new chapter, y/n?

+

Hannibal discerned intriguing similarities between Abigail's revolting behavior and that of a case he had read about in Erik Erikson's seminal tome, Childhood and Society. One of his case studies concerned a young boy named Peter, who refused to defecate for such a lengthy period that his colon tripled in dimension and required a correctional surgery. 

Like Peter, Abigail's actions revealed that she was identifying with her father and the child he was now completely dedicated to, a rival who sullied her relationship with her own father. By violating the parental order against having a bowel movement outside of the toilet, Abigail was playing the role of an infant in order to attraction her parents' attention. 

But she had not seemed to enjoy it; rather she had smeared her excrement into the wall in an intentional, serious, meticulous, unemotional way, as if she were sleeping, or a somnambulist. Abigail was her own authority, communicating her rage at being displaced in Hannibal's affections in a manner which he could not mistake. 

+

Alana collected Abigail after school herself, canceling a meeting in Washington that afternoon. She appeared anxious and on edge. Hannibal could see her grey cells straining – was the affaire de coeur with Freddie marred by the discovery of her daughter's abrupt regression? She had always enjoyed wallowing in self-pity and martyrdom. 

She had even left early so as to ask Abigail's teacher, a Mrs. Drew, how Abigail was interacting with the other girls in her class, seeking a kind of maternal commiseration. Hannibal was only too happy to be availed of his wife's shamefaced presence, making comments about how she and Hannibal were to blame for being distracted of late. 

This was obviously true, but Hannibal was unmoved by his daughter's plight of emotional abandonment. 

Alana called after speaking with Mrs. Drew, having discovered that she had observed that Abigail had seemed agitated and perturbed recently, tenser than usual. She was more apt to persecute others with games of 'who's the prettiest', as well as more susceptible to bursting into tears. When in art class, for example, she was set on copying still-lifes perfectly; a single error drove her to heartbroken tears. She became hysterical if one of her classmates wanted to use a material she was working with. 

Alana sounded near tears herself as she related the news. 

'We pressure her too much, Hannibal! And we haven't been paying attention to her, we aren't looking after her properly! You're so busy with Will, and I'm always working and away...'

She broke off, sniffling.

Hannibal grew bored of her weepy recrimination. 

'Alana, I shouldn't worry so. I'm sure she will grow out of such childish behavior, as long as we don't feed her with the response she seeks.' 

'I don't know, Hannibal. I just don't know anymore. I'm such... I'm such a failure of a mother!' A fresh burst of sobs. 

Hannibal dispassionately attempted to calm her down, finding her sentimental panic distasteful.

Abigail appeared cheerful enough the following morning, the foul nightmare of the previous evening forgotten. She had not seen him observing her amuse herself outdoors, giggling in the company of her new doll, Eunice, (a replacement for the ill-fated Lucinda).

Alana insisted they all go out for a family lunch, at Henry's Diner, far too down-market a restaurant for Hannibal's taste, but a favorite of Abigail's. He sipped an over-sweet iced tea with puckered lips while Abigial and Will eagerly dug into cheeseburgers and milkshakes. 

Abigail gazed directly at him. 

'We haven't been here together in forever, Papa. It's sad because they have the best food in Maryland.'

Hannibal was surprised with how much her innocent-seeming comment made him want to slap her across the face. He did not indulge himself, of course, keeping face and voice level. Such an insufferable little girl. 

He was almost enticed into making a stop at Tinker Toys, an old-fashioned, expensive toymaker, to find Will a gift as a reward for his immaculate behavior, despite the intrusive company of Alana and Abigail. But he refrained, for Abigail would no doubt demand a toy as well, if not a number of them. 

+

Once back at the residence, Abigail insisted that Hannibal play with her on the back lawn, throwing a ball back and forth until she grew tired and wanted help gardening. 

Hannibal expected that Will had taken a nap, as he was often worn out after venturing beyond the property, but when he glanced up to his bedroom, he caught sight of the boy's pale face in the window. His eyes seemed enormous, luminous with envy; Will was puzzled by what he saw, what Hannibal was doing in the yard with the small, hostile female, why he was not spending time with him. 

Hannibal ached to account for the time he forced to spend with Abigail, to smite those who separated him from Will, to take him into his arms and lavish him with all his consideration and care. 

Once Abigail dropped, exhausted, to rest, and Hannibal made his way upstairs, Will nestled against him, clutching close. He stroked him, kissing and caressing before attempting to unglue him enough so they could move into the safety of a bedroom. But Will would have none of it.

+


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so very short, guys. I didn't have as much time to write as I would have liked, but I promise the next one will be much longer to make up for this one. 
> 
> I love you guys for reading and giving me feedback - I can't say how much it motivates me!

+  
Will made sounds in the hallway while Abigail and Alana were in the living room watching television and Hannibal was playing chess against himself in his study. Abigail glanced at the door. 

'Who's making noise? I can't hear Pretty Little Liars!' she whined, standing up to investigate although she knew very well who was making the noise. 

Hannibal watched her through the ajar door, her pointed chin determined and her hands fisted at her sides as she marched to the hallway for a confrontation.

He attempted to stop her, but was not sufficiently quick. Fortunately when she reached the landing, Will had disappeared. 

Hannibal instructed Abigail to return to the living room, which she reluctantly obeyed, muttering abusive epithets under her breath. Will was not upstairs in his room. Hannibal heard a bang in the kitchen, the sound of something fallen or hurled, glassware shattering.

He flew down the flight of stairs, rushing past Abigail, who had hustled out to see what was happening. 

A china sugar dish lay smashed on the floor, sugar tipped across his pristine kitchen floor like a coating of snow. Will was nowhere in sight. 

'Oh my god!' Abigail yelled behind him as she sprinted into the kitchen, gleeful at the mess Will had made in her father's culinary sanctuary. 

He seized her and spun her around, frogmarching her back into the hall, closing the kitchen door behind her. Abigail continued looking over her shoulder as if she anticipated seeing Will supernaturally reappear, hoping to watching her father break him like he had destroyed the prized piece of China. 

Hannibal had an idea of where to look for the little phantom, once again concealing himself under the sideboard in the dining room. Will was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide at Hannibal's approach. He did not discipline the trembling boy, much as he knew he should for such petulant destruction, he could not bring himself to penalize Will. Instead, Hannibal kissed him. He did not desire to refuse Will, wishing to share with him every moment of the day. 

Hannibal was unable to devote every waking minute to him for fear of discovery at the hands of Jack or Alana, but Alana herself would be obligated to spend more Abigail as well. 

+


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another ugly chapter of regression and alienation, however not Abigail's.
> 
> As for those of you eager for Hannibal to divorce Alana, fear not, he's got something much more final planned...

+

In all the months that had passed since Will had come into Hannibal's keeping, he had thought the boy had long since crossed the threshold from the wilderness. Hannibal had so rarely been incorrect in his estimations of others. He had praised himself for fulfilling much more than he had truly achieved with Will. 

The previous evening, he had discerned Will barge out into the back lawn and rush around like a maddened animal. Hannibal made the error of observing him. Will was nude, when he normally loathed being unclothed, and hurling himself around in large wheels. His arms dangled slack at his sides, striking against him. After spinning in a dizzy number of circles, the boy seized a cluster of leaves off the lowest bough of a weeping crabapple tree, demolishing them. Snapping off a stick, he peeled off the bark with his teeth. He lifted up a large stone which bordered the edge of the drive – when had Will become powerful enough to raise it? – hauling it away. Then he started scraping at the earth beneath the stone with his bare fingers. He scented it and looked closely, his olfactory organs even now sharper than his sight. Will flung his hand down, trapping what he sought and placing it in his mouth. An insect, or a worm, a relapse to his eating habits in the woods. 

Hannibal was equally fascinated and disgusted at his behavior, which he had thought the boy cured of. He had seen the expression on Will's face before, but on a cat in the midst of devouring a grasshopper. 

+

Will skinned lichen off the bottom of the stone, then consumed some turf, then a chunk of clover. Hannibal stood still, staring out of the dining room window pane. The moonlight and glare of the carport lights bathed the scene in an eerie luminescence. Storming about, Will's unhinged gaze landed on a garbage bin, jerking off the cover and extracting trash, gnawing on anything he found; a moldy cheese, fat trimmed off a slab of meat, limp salad greens, spoiled milk, scraps of sweet potato, soiled tissue paper. He attempted to ingest an orange rind, masticating it fiercely, without success. 

He grew irate, hurling it over the gate. Hannibal was almost unable to comprehend that it was Will, his own boy, he was observing. The boy in question then fell to the ground, crawling in battle stance over to the other side of the carport where there was a rodent burrow. Breathing heavily, he thrust his arm inside the hole, incited by the stale scent of the field mice inside. He swayed his arm to and fro, hunting, producing only dry sod and aluminum foil for building a burrow. Will attempted once more, beating against the tunnel. When nothing emerged, he began removing handfuls of soil to widen the opening, aiming to reach further inside, but failing to reach beyond his shoulder. Thwarted, the boy kicked, grunted and panted in dissatisfaction. 

He hit the lid of another garbage bin to the ground, where it rattled, spinning like a hoop before toppling over. Hannibal had nearly ceased to breathe, unable to process what he watched – would Alana and Abigail awaken at the noise? Will was beyond worrying, lost to anything past the demands of his body. He ripped through contents of the bin in the same manner as the last, lapping a Greek yoghurt wrapping clean, tearing apart a cream cheese receptacle to suck at what remained at the bottom. 

Later, his engorgement at an end, he flopped on the lawn and gripped his genitalia, moving back and forth as he masturbated. Swaying harshly, as he had constantly when he had first arrived in the Lecter household. Next, he ceased shaking and held himself motionless, rocking once in a while as if unable to keep stable and upright. 

Will's eyes suddenly opened as he struck the ground in a faint, his forehead banging against the gnarled, bared roots of the tree, bring him round with a glower of pain. He rose, unsteady on his feet, flinching away as he caught sight of Hannibal watching him from the garage door, throwing a long shadow across the drive. Will turned from his master's implacable face, frantically crouching before charging him, battering his costly suit with small, grimy fists. Hannibal had no interest in brawling with his ward, tempting as it was to beat the boy to erode the disillusioning revelations of the night, to reshape him with his hands...

+

Hannibal pulled Will up into his arms, despite being kicked by his filthy heels. Will tried to tear himself free, tearing at Hannibal's clothes in a blind fury. No matter how he strained and fought, Hannibal's arms were like bands of iron around him, caging him close. 

Will made a sound mimicking tolling bells, emulating Abigail's earlier obnoxious performance of a fire alarm. Hannibal had never before heard him make such a sound. Will nodded his head as he made the sound, sounding as if he were submerged in water. He hit his hand against his chest and wailed, a lengthy, melancholy cry, head thrown back and throat wavering at the night sky far above, the breeze lashing the leaves. His eyes wide, he gaped at the tree, as though he glimpsed something that quieted him. Head tilted, he allowed himself to be held as he listened to the noises of the night. 

Perhaps they evoked in him the distant memory of running through the forest, alone, naked and free, unfettered and fearless. Perhaps he believed he would have been more fortunate had he died in that long ago fire with his family, unmolested by others in death as he had so rarely been in life. He took Hannibal's breath away, this small, slender creature, both ethereal and earthly, elusive even in his arms. 

Will clenched his teeth, cupping his hands in supplication, extending them to the sky, straining his strength one final time. He dropped, drained, against Hannibal's chest, arms swaying limply, head bent down. Hannibal felt as if he held something fluid and intangible in his arms, cradling him with infinite tenderness. When he deposited Will on his bed, the boy crouched and scraped at his skin as if it itched unbearably. Hannibal helped him to stand upright, hobbling to the hall, but Will dropped to his hands and knees, crawling to the bathroom. 

Abruptly, Hannibal understood he knew nothing of Will at all. 

+


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, just wanted to thank you for reading and giving feedback as I feel like this fic is a monster of bleak weirdness...

+

Alana began eating breakfast an hour earlier in the mornings, irritating Hannibal as she left a mess in the kitchen before Miriam had arrived to clean and tidy, before he had a chance to make breakfast for himself and Will. After Abigail ate and was taken to school by Miriam, Will was up and ravenous, then he played by himself until lunch while Hannibal worked in his study, after which Will would fall into a doze like a much younger child. 

Sometimes Hannibal would make supper himself, taking the time to engage and amuse Will in the meal preparations, taking care to exercise him until he was fatigued. When Abigail was delivered back home in the mid-afternoon, Will would retreat to the study to escape her antagonizing presence. After a day of appropriate physical exertion, the boy would need to be bathed with Hannibal's assistance; Abigail had begun to demand he help wash her as well, although she had been cleaning herself for years now. 

The Lecter-Bloom family no longer dined together; Hannibal and Will ate together, as did Miriam and Abigail, while Alana, returning late, ate at the office or at Freddie's, grabbing a beer from the fridge and content to drink alone. Often Will would be hungry again in the late evening, tugging on Hannibal's sleeve with wide, imploring eyes. Hannibal, like a devoted butler, would bring a treat upstairs on a tray with a glass of milk, managing to hide this midnight feast – a violation of his own strict rules regarding snacks – from the prying eyes of his wife and daughter. 

On such occasions, Will insisted Hannibal feed him like a fledgling bird, as if he were not perfectly capable of using utensils by himself. Hannibal attempted to persuade Alana and Abigail to pass these times in each other's company, informing them that Will was in need of quiet and relaxation. His delicately-worded instructions were not always obeyed; on one occasion Alana dared to go upstairs where Will lay abed, nude, in a trance-like state due to Hannibal's massage of his tender back. Hannibal, still clothed, scarcely stopped her in time, a much too close call for his liking. 

Abigail at times whined for Hannibal to tuck her in to bed, as it 'wasn't fair' that Will got put to bed by him every night. It was not just, but he was untouched by her demands. He had long since turned over her care to Alana; if his wife fell short of her maternal duties, it was not his concern. Alana was increasingly reluctant to do any housework whatsoever, leaving it all for Miriam, claiming she was too exhausted after work to even rinse out her beer steins. 

Hannibal was distinctly unimpressed by her lax, self-absorbed attitude, almost juvenile in her ceaseless sullenness. If he hinted as much, she merely raised a dark eyebrow and alluded to all the time he spent at home with Will, as if his neglect of Abigail justified her own. Frankly, she was as difficult and shrewish as the two children of the house combined, yet Hannibal had no interest in expending energy improving Alana and Abigail's appalling attitude and behavior at the cost of spending time with Will. 

+

Will appeared to be much improved since that nightmarish jaunt in the yard a few days before; healthier, his control of himself no longer weakened, although the entire event had revealed to Hannibal just how tenuous, how easily breakable Will's veneer of civility and socialization was. He did everything in his power to help the boy regain his hold over his bestial nature, although Will already failed to remember the sign language Hannibal had taught him. He did recall 'I want', signing it throughout the day. 

Wherever Hannibal went, Will followed, concealing himself behind a leather armchair in the living room, beneath the dining-room sideboard, beneath the master bed. If Alana or Abigail entered a room, he would race to Hannibal's side as if seeking protection. Hannibal was surprised by his own about-face regarding spending every moment of the day with another – Will's clinginess did not annoy him as much as he would have thought. 

Abigail made no secret of her jealousy, bordering on loathing, towards Will, constantly present and attempting to divide him from her father. Will seemed aware of but confused by her antipathy; all he desired was for Hannibal to stroke him, pamper him, kiss and caress him. Hannibal found it increasingly difficult to keep his composure – it would be a grievous mistake to turn on Abigail in a fit of rage, threatening what he held most dear, his relationship with Will. Abigail almost seemed to want to provoke his anger, Hannibal's appearance of even temper and indifference infuriating her all the more. 

Will was growing emotionally, physically and mentally from infancy to childhood to adolescence before Hannibal's very eyes. But he seemed incapable of the most significant change, incapable of overcoming an infant's earliest social accomplishment – a readiness to allow the parent out of sight without excessive worry or anger. As soon as he had permitted a nurturing yet all-powerful authority figure like Hannibal into his existence, he was not going to allow him to leave, considering the emotional injuries he had undergone at the hands of his birth father. 

At night Hannibal dreamed uneasily of Will running through the woods on hands and feet, slavering like an animal, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight, large pale eyes blank of all human recognition. Try as he might, he could not purge himself of the images. 

+


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a somewhat meatier, longer chapter than the last one. My muse tends to have a short attention span. As always, thanks for reading and any feedback.

+

Abigail's tenth birthday was a week from Friday. Alana, finally manifesting guilt over her neglect, was arranging a lavish celebration, with party games, favors, a large mudpie she was making herself, even a hiring a clown. Hannibal found the entire plan garish; only Americans would pander to their offspring in such a way, plying them with parties and presents to assuage their guilt over being less-than-attentive parents. 

He was uninvolved in the proceedings, doing his utmost to keep an extremely nervous and excited Will call, but as the birthday party was underway, the boy continued to cry, whimper, clutch and cling to Hannibal, who grew uncharacteristicly tense and cutting. As the night progressed, he flew into a rage, shaking Will, a look of uncomprehending alarm on his face at being slapped by one who had never laid an unloving hand on him. Hannibal felt like a man possessed, unable to control himself. Such a loss of restraint frightened him. 

'Leave me, Will,' Hannibal instructed, eyes cold even as red spots burned high in his cheekbones. 'Go up to your room.' He could not bear to be in the boy's hurt presence. 

Will disregarded his command, moving near and nestling close, plainly wishing to be embraced and comforted, even after an unprecedented act of violence. He did not seem to comprehend Hannibal's harsh 'no!'

Hannibal grasped him by the arms and carried him to his room, before locking him inside. He hammered on the door, sobbing. Will's cries were heard by Abigail, who had come in to use the downstairs bathroom, accompanied by her friend Marissa. 

'What's that?' she asked. 

'Oh, that's just our monster. He's the ghost of this house, so you better be careful when you sleep over tonight,' replied Abigail, eyes sharp as a fox. 

Hannibal's gut twisted with abhorrence at her words; what an dreadful child he had brought into the world!

Marissa's eyes were wide, although she proclaimed: 'Don't be dumb, Abby, everybody knows there's no such thing as ghosts or monsters.'

'You're the one who's dumb! I've got real proof that he lives in our house, just you wait!' Abigail sneered with a toss of her hair. 

Will ceased his banging and puling after a time. Hannibal, feeling a slight pang of remorse, brought him his favorite blanket, a blanket of soft, shabby material patterned with cartoon dogs. He assumed Will had swathed himself in it for comfort, and had fallen asleep. The house rang with the shouts and giggles of little girls, calls from Alana's family wishing her daughter a happy birthday. 

Hannibal retreated to his study, wearing first-class noise-canceling headphones. He read over and complied his notes, but his mind continued drifting to thoughts of Will, so miserably alone, caged upstairs, the way his round cheek had burned brightly with the palm of Hannibal's hand. His betrayed eyes, glittering with tears. He wondered when Will's birthday was, for the Hobbs' had left no birth records of their son, birthing him at home in secrecy, never registering his birth, as if the child had never existed. 

Alana had gone overboard as usual, as on edge as if she was hosting only the creme-de-la-creme of Baltimore society, as opposed to their pre-pubescent daughters. At the last moment, she had exchanged the clown – who had looked rather fiendish, in the manner of John Wayne Gacy – for a hired Shetland pony to give rides round the yard. No expense ever made Hannibal balk, but it seemed a shame to waste such money on a child as over-privileged and ungrateful as Abigail. 

+

As proprietorial as Will was of Hannibal, as covetous of his time (and much the same vice-versa), he was incapable of harming anyone, whereas Hannibal had no doubt he would utterly ruthless should anyone get in the way of his access to Will. Will might destroy everything he could get his hands on, but would loathe to hurt someone, even should they intervene. 

Abigail ended her birthday on an ear-shattering note – distressed and shrieking. The child likely had some mood or personality disorder, Hannibal mused, given her narcissistic, histrionic behavior. He desired nothing more in that moment than to smack her, no matter that it was her birthday, or that Will had broken all her toys, as she claimed. He would not have been the least surprised if she had done it herself in a play for his attention and sympathy. 

She was quite the little actress, he had to concede, but grew increasingly annoyed as she described her foster brother as a 'freak', a 'bully', and a 'bad boy'. Alana managed to persuade her to be tucked in bed; in the end Abigail calmed down. 

The toys had been battered by a sledgehammer; it was difficult to imagine either child wielding it. When Hannibal left Abigail's room, he found Will seated in the hall, leaning against his bedroom door, having somehow escaped from it. He did not give in to his impulse to console Will, who chirped at him hopefully. Hannibal had to teach him that when he broke his explicit commands, he would have to be punished. 

+

The following day Hannibal had brunch with Bedelia, who the evening before had attended a gathering much more in line with his interests, the Washington National Opera Opening Night Gala. He spent much of their conversation thinking about baking Will cupcakes, something whimsical and animal-themed, or perhaps something with cowboys – his favorite film was inexplicably 'The Lone Ranger'. Hannibal had few previous occasion to practice cake decorations, as he preferred to serve simple and elegant desserts which required no icing piping. 

Will had been unaccountably excited that morning, finding an undamaged paper party horn and blowing it repeatedly with great delight. He also enjoyed playing with the leftover balloons, some losing helium had already drifted to the floor. There must have been over a hundred of them, many released into the sky by distracted guests.

Bedelia of course noticed his distraction, but handled him lightly. She seemed to think Alana's affair had broken off, that he as the cuckholded husband should be mortified but vindicated, which amused Hannibal. After all, one could say he was having an affair himself, one infinitely more tantalizing and taboo, so satisfying in its successful deception. If he could speak roughly, honestly, with anyone, it would be Bedelia, but now was not the time for truth.

She watched him careful as a cat as she sipped her breakfast bellini, puckering her lips. She extended her hand to touch his wrist briefly before drawing away. Sometimes Hannibal pondered his life had he married her, rather than Alana. Bedelia would have suspected his relationship with Will immediately, but perhaps she could have been persuaded on that matter. She would not condone his actions, he felt, but neither would she condemn them. Perhaps there would come a time where he could confide in her without the risk she would turn on him. 

When he returned home, he demonstrated how to blow up a balloon to Will, who found it fascinating. It took some time before he learned how to do it, but when he did, he was unstoppable. One balloon was faulty, as when he inflated it, it burst in his face. He had a look of perturbed surprise for a moment, but then he began to giggle. He imitated the balloon exploding, the look on his face, bursting into laughter again. 

It was marvelous to witness. Hannibal was pleased to see Will calmed, if not tamed, once more. 

+


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is were things come to a head with lots of good old familial jealousy and violence. I'm returning to uni tomorrow, so I don't know if I'll be able to commit to such a regular updating schedule as over the summer, but I'll try my best.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and your comments and kudos are much appreciated.

+

Unbeknownst to Hannibal, Alana had decided to extend the birthday celebrations another day, claiming that they might as well save themselves expense and energy planning for Will's birthday, which no one actually knew the date of, in any case. Hannibal did not believe her in the slightest, taking in the drunken glaze of her eyes with unconcealed distaste. 

'After all,' she slurred, 'Can't have people thinking we play favorites with the children, now can we, Hannibal?'

It was an absurd explanation, and she knew it, but seemed not to care at all. Abigail was racing around with Marissa, who had slept over two consecutive nights in a row. They sprinted around the back lawn, squealing with laughter as they danced to obnoxious pop songs blaring from speakers on top of the patio table, still strewn with used party hats and serviettes, discarded candy wrappers and forgotten goodie bags. His daughter's smirk seemed to project malevolence to Hannibal, wide as a grinning skull.

Alana sat at the table, watching Abigail and Marissa spin around as she emptied one beer bottle after another in abject dissipation. Miriam stepped outside, holding a large parcel in her hands. Her expression revealed little of what she thought of the scene before her. She was nearly sightless due tot the dimensions of the package, teetering and feeling carefully with one foot extended. The sight made Hannibal think of someone probing the temperature of a swimming pool. 

Abigail had of late developed a hero-worship of her au pair, and Miriam seemed to care for her as much as she could care for anyone. She less the maternal type than Alana, not that Alana had been particularly tender and nurturing of late. A gold ring gleamed on her ring finger, a new addition. Perhaps Miriam was engaged, although Hannibal was amused by the image of her accepting matrimony. 

'Where's the birthday boy?' she asked. 

Abigail seized her by the arm and hugged her tightly.

'I was the birthday girl! Nobody even knows when Will's birthday is, so I don't know why we're celebrating,' she pouted. 

Hannibal took unabashed pleasure in watching the aloof Miss Miriam awkwardly twist free of Abigail's clinging grasp. 

'What's in the box? Is it for me?' Abigail asked, jumping up and down to see. 

'No, it's a present for Will,' said Miriam shortly. 

'That's not fair! I didn't get this big a present!' whined Abigail, tearing at the wrapping paper. 

'Abigail!' said Hannibal sharply, tearing her arm away. 'That is Will's gift, not yours!'

But the toy inside was already exposed – something Hannibal dimly recognized as a toy Tardis, from a British science-fiction show Will enjoyed watching. It irritated him that Alana had bought something so thoughtful for Will, when she seemed to take little notice of his existence. It should have been his magnificent toy for Will in the box, not some obscure plastic trash from Alana.

'What is it? I don't get it,' said Abigail, no longer impressed by the gift. 

'It's a Tardis. It's something from a show Will likes,' said Alana, who had not uttered a word during the entire conversation, her voice hoarse. 

'It looks stupid. Come on, Marissa, let's play over here,' said Abigail, having lost interest.

Miriam removed the Tardis out of the plastic packaged and filled it with a few batteries from her pocket, which turned on the top and internal lights.

Hannibal lifted it from her. 'I'll see that this gets to Will. Many thanks for your consideration, Miriam.'

She looked at him blankly. 'It wasn't my idea. It was your wife's.'

+

A truck attached with a horse trailer drove up the driveway, the same one that had brought the pony to Abigail's party only days before. Alana was obviously becoming mentally unhinged, thought Hannibal, unable to fathom her actions, apart from a clumsy desire to drive a wedge between him and Will. Abigail sprinted up the path, overcome with excitement, more than she had been on her own birthday. 

'Marissa, the pony's back!' She wanted to touch, guide and mount the white Shetland pony named Samson. She insisted on assisting the man with the saddle, harness and brushing Samson's glossy coat until the animal shied away from her roughness. She ignored everyone else.

'Why didn't I get Samson as a birthday present?' she whined. 'I want a pony more than stupid stuffed animals or Barbies or books.'

'Honey, Samson came back so Will could take a ride on him too,' said Alana. 'And horses are expensive, even little ones, and we don't have enough space to keep him here.'

Abigail proceeded to show just how entitled and unappreciative she was; even the horse caretaker was appalled by her behavior. 

Hannibal brought the Tardis inside and concealed it in the bowels of the basement, where his family members never ventured. If Alana asked where it was, he would tell her Will had broken it beyond repair and had been too upset to keep it. 

He was more determined than ever to give Will something special; what, exactly, he did not know, but something infinitely more exception than anything Alana could dream of. 

When he returned outside, he found Marissa hanging about Abigail, anxiously twisting her hands as she watched her friend ride Samson. A ribbon woven through Samson's mane had come loose and fallen, and Marissa caught it, reaching up to reattach it. Abigail shoved her away, annoyed. 

'Leave me alone!' 

Marissa stumbled and started to cry. 

'Abigail!' said Miriam severely. 'Apologize to your friend!' 

'You're mean, Abigail! I hate you! I want to go home!' sniveled Marissa. 

Miriam attempted to comfort her, while Alana and Hannibal watched, indifferent. 

'Would you like to ride Samson next?' Miriam asked. 

Marissa ceased weeping, pushing out her lip, eyes shining as she nodded. The little girl resembled a wizened, querulous old lady, thought Hannibal, his lip curling with contempt. 

Abigail was lifted off, yelling her envious dissent as the caretaker set Marissa on Samson's back. Marissa threw her a look of petulant triumph as she was led away by the man. 

+

Hannibal, having had enough of the absurdity of the scene, turned to go inside to make something to eat when he caught sight of Will hidden in the shrubs at the edge of the lawn. He was trying to creep closer, struggling to watch, blinded by the bushes. Hannibal felt a sharp pang as he observed him; the boy seemed so unhappy, so yearning. 

Alana had already exited the scene, likely feeling ill due to all the alcohol she had consumed at such an early hour. Miriam found an old ball to play with Abigail while Marissa was riding, and Abigail booted it with all her might, running circles around her. She sprinted quickly, stealing the ball, jouncing it off her knees, showing off for her father. 

Will staggered as he observed her, growing engrossed and thrilled by the game. He glanced from Hannibal to Abigail, to and fro. Hannibal wondered what he was considering – was Will requesting his consent to partake?

Before he could signal in the negative, Will barged out of the shrubbery to join Abigail and Miriam. When she spotted him, Abigail attacked immediately, as if in a substandard horror film about the dreadful things nasty children are capable of. She hounded him, but he eluded her, running as quickly as he was able, but not quickly enough. Will's flight only goaded Abigail on in her pursuit.

Hannibal was frozen in a state of complete passivity, horror-stricken at what he saw. Unexpectedly, though he did not recall watching Abigail snatch something up, she bombarded Will with stones, one striking him in the leg. He did not drop to the ground, but he began to hobble, slowing; he trembled, wailing and crying. She lunged at him, while he thrashed to fend her off. She felled him or he fainted, capitulating, vulnerable. 

Swiftly, unconsciously, Hannibal materialized beside them, wrenching a spitting, kicking Abigail off Will, who wept and covered his face. In an instant, Abigail drew back, frightened by the look on her father's face, ugly and alien in its violence. Will gaped, reluctant, through his fingers, and in a split second, Abigail assaulted him again, punching him in the stomach. Hannibal threw her aside roughly, but Will had fallen to the grass, hemorrhaging at the mouth. 

Hannibal's blood boiled, he wanted nothing more than to snap Abigail's thin little neck, but she had already dispersed from the scene, recognizing the danger promised in Hannibal's eyes. Will was nearly nude, his clothes torn from his body in the fight. Hannibal attempted to hold him in his arms, but as soon as he approached, Will fled, even from him. He did not glance back, but plunged into the forest backing the property, clambering across the wall, and disappeared from sight. 

Mind on autopilot, Hannibal went after him, vaulting across the wall, ignoring the brambles and branches that tore at his suit. All he could think of was Will, vanishing before his very eyes. 

+


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written at different times in the week, so I apologize if it feels fragmented. Hannibal's losing his mind, and I feel like I am! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for putting up with all this fic's inconsistencies. I'll try and be more prolific, but you know how uni is...

+

Hannibal eventually found Will, but not until darkness had fallen, afternoon fading into evening. It darkness was oppressive, hanging heavy as black velvet across the night sky. He found himself utterly panic-stricken, heart gripped with a fear that he had never felt before. 

Will lay face down in the earth, made no sound, no indication of recognition as Hannibal stole closer to him. He stirred feebly, hardly moving sufficiently to prove his existence. Hannibal felt utterly impotent in the face of such abject apathy. The boy did not appear to have a high temperature; Hannibal couldn't discern anything amiss with Will physically, but psychically, emotionally, was another matter. He swaddled Will in his wool peacoat, carrying him home limply in his arms. 

Once home, Will lay abed, totally motionless, as if he had abandoned the will to live. His eyes had become glassy, like a dead animal's. He was dehydrated, but Hannibal was unable to persuade him to drink anything; if his refusal to drink continued, he would be forced to inject him subcutaneously. Will folded his hands into Hannibal's when he extended them, opening his mouth to demonstrate his parched throat, but still he would not swallow. Hannibal had taken the gesture as signaling Will's desire to suckle the baby bottle, so he held it to his lips. 

When Will succeeded in drawing the milk from the rubber teat, he started to retch. He gazed, sluggish and numb, at Hannibal when he spoke his name. 

Hannibal was unable to sleep that night. Alana was elsewhere, perhaps at Freddie's. He stayed up with Will late into the night, reluctant to leave from his side. His body grew feverish, then his internal temperature plunged before increasing once more. Finally, his eyes closed, his breathing slowed under the onslaught of sleep. 

The following morning, Hannibal loathed leaving Will behind, but he could not afford to break his meeting with Jack, the first appointment in a lengthy period. He had disregarded too many visits from dear old Jack and it was best to comply now, before giving rise to any suspicions on his part. Apparently Dr. Katz was moving back to Minnesota to set up her own laboratory there, or else she was taking a sabbatical. Either way, it removed one more person familiar with Will, influential in determining his future situation. 

Hannibal had always gotten the sense that Beverly was not fond of him, perhaps did not entirely trust him. She had sharp instincts, but ones which would better for all concerned should she be removed a great distance. In the meantime, there was Uncle Jack deal with. 

+

Hannibal called on him at his unattractive, bureaucratically sterile corner office at the Children's Bureau. The walls were painted an odious shade of puce that no child or official could conceivably find relaxing in the slightest, with an 'artful' picture of a woman soaping her breast fixed to the wall. Jack made him wait fifteen minutes, supposedly at an important meeting, but most likely enjoying the sensation of power over Hannibal caused by inconveniencing him. 

There was nothing at all intriguing to read in the magazines strewn across the coffee table, so Hannibal flicked through his file on Will, ensuring that all of his paperwork was in order, re-organizing his detailed, clear notes (so very different from the ones he kept encoded in a safe at home) on the various procedures performed, his own methodology, medications prescribed, daily routines... His records were immaculate, every blank space filled in, every moment's activity accounted for with what seemed like consummate professional accuracy. 

Jack strolled into the room with a complacent apology and his characteristic bulldog pugnacity, assailing Hannibal with queries in a manner that rivaled the Inquisition. Hannibal smoothly expressed the appropriate answers, seated across from Jack in a way that projected an aura of complete mastery of the situation and himself, giving the appearance of paying attention to, without actually digesting, his imbecilic blather. All the while, his thoughts drifted to Will, a child with no birth record, no existence in the eyes of the state, his identity annihilated by his own family. 

'Hannibal, Dr. Chilton and I have been discussing the benefits of Will seeing another psychiatrist, in addition to your work with him. Understand, we're not replacing you – your work has been invaluable and, uh, enlightening – but there's a risk with having one person so involved in every aspect of his life, a guardian, a teacher, a psychiatrist. And there's also the question of the strain it must put on you and your own family, of course...'

Hannibal was paralyzed in a state of complete shock. He heard a great roaring in his eyes, surging with a siren song of violence, of bloodshed.

'Surely, Jack, you recognize that what you're suggesting – separating Will from his foster family; I who have been one of the few figures of nurturing, authority and stability in his young life – it would cause his grave stress and potentially trigger a serious regression emotionally and physically. All these months hard work would be lost, forever, and Will would feel once again abandoned and betrayed by those who were to care for him.'  
Jack listened to him, biting a ball-point pen cap in his mouth. He sighed like one much put-upon, plagued by the world's ills. 

'I hear what you're saying, Hannibal, and I agree up to a point. You have been instrumental in helping him develop so far in such a short time, and the Children's Bureau recognizes your own sacrifices of your out-patient practice, devoting all your time and energy to him. It's Chilton who is really keen to have Will back in his hands, so we'll have to come to some sort of a compromise with him, maybe you could bring Will to the hospital once a week for check-ups with his team.'

'Certainly, so long as Will's living situation and daily routine would not be overly disrupted. An institutional environment is not one which benefits a child of Will's delicate temperament – he needs familiarly and structure, both of which I aptly provide him. And I assure you that Alana feels the same way about his needs, that they would much better be met in a supportive, personally tailored surroundings. We very much believe we can offer Will a permanent place within our family.'

'Alright, Hannibal, you know I have no complaints on your treatment of Will. But I'm not the only one you have to convince.'

They stood and shook hands, Hannibal's face drawn into a warm mask, murmuring platitudes to Jack he hardly heard himself say. Jack was intimate, jovial, feeling back in charge, reassured of Hannibal's proficiency. 

He doubted Jack would make time to confirm with Alana all he'd said during the meeting. Jack's self-satisfaction, his feeling of utter mastery, was his greatest, perhaps fatal, flaw.

+

That night, Hannibal dreamed of a strange creature, a wounded fawn with feather-like fur. Its great dark eyes seemed to hold unfathomable knowledge, beyond that of an animal, beyond humanity. How could it survive, with such a deep, bloody gash in its side?

He awoke bathed in sweat, compelled to rush to Will's bedside. Will could not pull himself up into a seated position, eating solid food was difficult for him. Warm milk, such as what Hannibal had fed him when he first arrived, seemed to be all he wished to ingest. He stayed the night by Will's side, stricken with a feeling of utter impotence. 

Neither slept that night, nor the nights following.

+


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a very short chapter in which nothing much happens except for Hannibal ruminating obsessively. Sorry about that. Next one will be longer, I promise!

At times, Hannibal felt almost deranged by the potency of his obsession with Will. It had entered his mind before, while gazing into Will's limpid eyes, that they seemed so familiar to his own he felt as if he were looking at himself in the mirror. Of course, the color of the irises were different – Hannibal's a coppery brown so dark the iris appeared to fuse with the pupil, Will's a frost-limned Baltic blue – Hannibal's hooded, snake-like, Will's translucent and almond-shaped, more like Alana's eyes. But the look in both pairs was of complete understanding of one another beyond a need for words, of possession, if not love. 

Hannibal knew that nothing like this had ever occurred in his life, and was not likely to happen again; being moved to affection, fierce as a mother bear with her cub, was a remarkable rarity in the life of a predator such as himself. Considering the thought of forming a life together, alone with Will, almost alarmed him at the danger, the risk to his as-yet unmarred reputation, the sanctity of their relationship. It was madness, born of an undimmed infatuation, without a single pang of conscience, the bane of other fettered sinners. He would never register the shame of touching a child entirely under his power, of forging ahead in a life of complete deception, transforming the boy into his dream child companion.

Reveling in the fact of his dark nature caused Hannibal to feel as if he were encountering Will for the first time, without the nuisances of the clinic or other physicians. When he returned home after the unfortunate appointment with Jack, assured of the renewed understanding between them, it was as if Will intuitively grasped what he had heard, radiating an anxiety for his protection, the security found in his arms. As Hannibal held him, rocking him gently, he felt a serenity spread through the boy's limbs, rendering them lax as if in sleep. 

Reporting on the situation was unnecessary, as words signified little to Will, apart from barks of 'no!', but regardless he seemed to communicate with Hannibal on a subliminal level, as if they had an unspoken mental bond linking their thoughts. It occurred to Hannibal that while he had spent much of his life in the company of others, charming them with witty anecdotes and semi-fabricated memories of an aristocratic background, he had always felt utterly alone, but not lonely. Rather, he was at peace with his innate solitude, recognizing others as fundamentally different from him, lesser than his own subjectivity, so unhampered by their petty moral laws and judgements. 

Yet he had of course been cautious to maintain a socially-acceptable mask in public at all times, of making remarks other than those which reflected what others wished to hear of themselves, far from what they actually were. He had always thought this self-deception to be intrinsic to the human condition, that everyone was frightened that others, that they themselves, would discover they were not what they seemed, especially those whom they appeared to be most intimate with. Like Alana, his own wife, who had little inkling of the fathomless void in place of his soul. 

With Will he was never alone, not physically, mentally, emotionally – exploiting words as a link between their minds was redundant. Already their identities were submerged into one, Will's self having been consumed within Hannibal's. What bound them together was something unnameable, unmentionable. 

Hannibal had only discovered another being like himself this once. He was more than prepared to damn himself eternally in the eyes of God than to ever lose Will, now or at the time of his death. 

+


	48. Chapter 48

+

When Hannibal lifted Will into his arms, he noticed that he felt more fragile than usual. He was more insubstantial, more like a dream than ever before. Will, not being of a reflective nature, was likewise incapable of playing passive-aggressive games, of absolving Hannibal for his transgressions, not knowing they were transgressions. Instead, the boy uttered dulcet sounds and clasped closer, as if to melt their bodies into one. 

Hannibal expected that Will knew he was always safe and secure with him. He desired nothing more than intimacy with Will, feeling almost awed at the thought of his complete authority over him. At once point in his life, Hannibal would have bitterly resented the idea of someone so totally altering his life, his priorities. He wondered that if Will had been an adult, a man with his own potent personality and a greater degree of agency, what he would have thought of Hannibal, of his actions and manipulations, his need for complete control. 

He imagined Will as an infant, puling and wailing, chubby and pink-skinned with sparse, fine hair and satin-silk cheeks. Will in the womb of Louise Graham, pathetic creature that she was, the furl of a fetus sleeping deep inside, the size of a tadpole, then no more than a cluster of cells floating in warm darkness. Had she loved the creature while pregnant, the parasite growing inside? But it did not matter, for whatever maternal sentiment she had felt for her son was worthless against her husband's abuse, nor could it compare to the greedy levitation that was Hannibal's love. It was an unfamiliar sensation, mythical and wondrous, even more so in that his love for Will was wicked and potentially devastating for them both. But no matter how great the risks, Hannibal flourished in a carefully-concealed state of dizzy ecstasy, teetering on the verge of derangement. 

He felt as if everyone he knew noticed that he emitted a kind of radiance, a flush of happiness, that made people either distrustful and suspicious at his strange good mood, or beam with kindly benevolence. He had never desired a soulmate, deeming it a fantasy for the pitiful, feeble and romantic, but Will was this and more – a pupil, a twin, a monster, a mirror, a lover. He gave Hannibal a focus for his energies, an outlet for adoration both malevolent and benign, a child compulsively reliant on, and addicted to, Hannibal himself. 

+

He had never dreamed the satisfaction such power would give him, but he knew this was what he had awaited his entire life, washing away his past by presenting him with a blank slate on which to inscribe himself. Now to rid himself of the encumbrance of his wife and daughter, to escape from Jack's surveillance. Hannibal had no wish to continue duping Alana, no matter how unfaithful and unworthy of him she had proved herself to be, compelled to eliminate the secret of his true self, to free him and Will to their future. 

Hannibal felt a sense of release as a plan began to take shape in his mind that would destroy the obstacles in his way, body loosening as he no longer felt hunted and hounded, every move watched by hostile eyes that searched for a lack of transparency in his dealings with Will. He was self-aware enough to recognize his own paranoia, although he knew from years of experience his eyes revealed nothing, smooth as stones. 

Soon he and Will would be out of harm's way, living the finest lifestyle money could buy them in a city far away from the industrial filth of Baltimore. Their time in America had come to an end. Hannibal had swindled his way to freedom in another country a frankly astounding number of times before, although an escape would be considerably more difficult with a mute boy in tow. 

Hannibal would never be able to compensate for the cruelties suffered in Will's childhood. Neither could he wipe what had happened out of existence, or Will's memories, mental or physical, but nonetheless, he found himself wishing he could. Will had been pained beyond the bounds of his understanding, beyond his own ability to communicate past hurt. 

Hannibal found himself wishing he could have suffered in his stead. 

+

Overnight a cold front set in, encrusting each blade of grass with ice crystals. Hannibal felt only more concerned over Will's prospects for recuperation, but that morning when he went into his room, Will had been ravenous. He devoured food like a starved dog – chicken noodle soup, raspberry sorbet, warm milk, sourdough bread. Then he fell asleep, and after napping for a few hours, was hungry again, eating more, before sleeping once more. 

Will seemed extremely frail, but Hannibal hoped his immune system would rally and his hunger would persist. 

+


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter you've been waiting for. Those who find it anti-climatic, don't worry, this ain't the final showdown yet. It's only the beginning.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, kudos and comments!

+

Will's appetite increased; each day he demanded more of Hannibal's attention. That very morning he had sat up in bed and amused himself with one of the rejects from Abigail's family of stuffed animals, an old mangy puppy. It was only for a few moments, but it was magnificent to observe. He did not seem familiar with what a dog was, having had so little contact with them. It was peculiar to see him playing with one, even a child-sized imitation. But in his mind the most promising sign was that Will had started to care about fouling his underwear and bedlinen, as well as his irritability when Hannibal left the room. It was also heartening to see how envious Will was of Abigail once again. 

If only Will knew how wasted his jealousy was. It was Hannibal's own boy who was so ill, the only child of his heart. 

The day Will grinned at him again was the day Hannibal knew he was on the path to recovery. 

He gave Will a bath while Alana and Abigail were away during the day, helped him cloth himself afterwards. It was the first time Will had worn anything but his pajamas in weeks. His clothes were enormous on him; Will had lost so much weight, he swam in excess material as if he had shrunk. 

They spent the day together; Hannibal took him downstairs just after breakfast and didn't carry him back until Abigail was brought home at eight, as she had a friend's birthday party to attend after school. Will slept on the living room's golden brocade couch. When he awakened, they played together, Will pretending to help as Hannibal cooked or cleaned in the kitchen. He continued to be silent, as if he understood he was still unwell. 

As Hannibal watched Will sleep, he experienced a strange, incessant pulling in his gut, an overwhelming sensation of pleasure, awe, solace, joy, tenderness, underpinned by something like fear. He did not know if he could pull off their escape, if he could rectify their situation. But he registered what he had appreciated the entire time – that Will was his, offering meaning in the emptiness of his existence. 

+

He had left Will's bottle heating in a pot of water on the hob, while he rushed upstairs to help Will to the bathroom. Alana had gone downstairs to the kitchen for more ice to make herself another cocktail. Hannibal was somewhat astonished she had even noticed it, much less have made it the jumping off point of an attack. 

'What is that?' she asked, disapproval dripping from her voice. 

Hannibal made an abrupt resolution – no longer would he attempt to make peace with Alana, to pacify her with lies. Their farce of a marriage had continued long enough. 

'It's for Will, of course,' he replied cooly.   
'Will? Why? He's not a goddamn baby, even if you insist on treating him like one. He's twelve-year-old, for Christ's sake!' she answered harshly.

'You know as well as I do that Will has been severely under the weather of late, and while I do not deny his age, circumstances dictate that he is no normal twelve-year-old, and should be treated as such.'

'You know what, Hannibal? There's no need for you to be so fucking condescending all the time. I'm also an expert in child psychiatry, and unlike you, I actually have a practice that revolves around more than one child! If you ask me, the amount of time you spend together is unhealthy. You don't have time for anyone else nowadays, much less your own wife and daughter!' 

The look in her eyes verged on the brink of madness. There was no reasoning with such hysteria, and Hannibal was tempted to use brute force, to strike her until she fell quiet. 

'Enough is enough, Alana. There is no need to stoop to petty insults and vulgarities if, as you assert, we are equals as medical professionals. We should converse like the adults we are. You claim I have neglected you and Abigail by spending time with Will, but you yourself have been less present in her life or our household. I have been aware of your dalliance with Freddie Lounds for some time now, and I believe that the time has come for us to acknowledge that perhaps the challenges in our marriage are more than can be easily overcome, and should start the process of separating, if not divorce proceedings.'

Ah, Alana had evidently not expected him to go so far. 

'What you're saying is crazy,' she said, her voice and hands trembling. 'You'd obviously given up on our marriage a long time ago, or I wouldn't have had to seek attention elsewhere! So I've been sleeping with Freddie – well, she makes me happy, which is more than I can say for you, and I love her! Meanwhile you're home with our daughter, who you clearly don't give a shit about, and a feral child who has done nothing but disturb our household, and obsess you to such a degree I almost feel that there has to be something else to it... I always felt you had a deep dark secret, Hannibal, that you were just too goddamn perfect, and maybe it's that you like children a little too much! You like mute little boys, Hannibal?'

He did not deign to reply to her accusation, instead darting forward quick as a cobra and striking her across the face. She gasped, eyes blazing, cheeks burning. 

'I wouldn't have thought you were capable of stooping to domestic violence, but I guess I was wrong. I'm going to make you pay for that, Hannibal, mark my words.'

She turned, and immediately it seemed plain to Hannibal that if she discovered Will, she would not shy from harming him, given the volatile mood she was in.

He seized hold of her without slowing her pace. She dodged his grasp as effortlessly as a duck glided through water. He hurried past her up the stairs, barring the way. Will's door was shut, and he held it closed. Alana's shouting had woken Abigail, who came out of her room, rubbing her eyes and starting to blubber, adding to the din. 

Alana gripped Hannibal's arm in an attempt to jerk him out of her path, shoving and pushing like a tantrum-throwing child. He had never reviled her so much, yet a part of him was amused by her efforts to best him physically. She was not capable of truly injuring or distressing him, but he grazed her as she moved forward, taking delight in the violence they met out to each other. He had drawn the first blood, marring her no-longer-lovely face. 

Alana stopped fighting, gaping at him like a fool as she felt her face. 

'Have you lost your fucking mind?' she panted.

Hannibal said nothing, staring back, feeling no need for justification. Will absolved everything. 

Abigail wailed above them. 

'You are insane,' Alana hissed. She shook her finger like a scolding schoolmarm. 'You're insane enough to be incarcerated for life. I should see it, too.'

Hannibal merely smirked at her, at the irony of her little self-righteous speech. Gathering herself, she went to Abigail, attempting to comfort her. Abigail quavered in her arms, sniffling piteously. 

'At least I can get her away from you.' Alana glared at him, voice quiet. Hannibal was tempted to threaten her in turn, but did not want to jeopardize their departure. 

Hand-in-hand, Hannibal's wife and daughter climbed down the stairs and out the door before anything else was said. He watched from a second-story window, holding Will close, as they got into Alana's car and drove away, headlights disappearing down the road. 

The banes of his existence were gone, leaving him alone with Will. 

+


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed my update last night, but there was drinking involved so any writing on my part would have been very garbled. Enjoy this longer chapter to make up for it. And the twin evils A&A are gone... for now. Again, sorry for distorting the show's female characters beyond recognition.

+

That night, when Will came to him with a photograph of a grinning Alana, holding a toddler Abigail in her arms, a question clear in his eyes, Hannibal informed him that they had gone away for an undisclosed period of time. Will clung to him, arms koala-like around his neck, as if he excepted Hannibal to disappear too should he turn his back even for a moment. To calm him, Hannibal ran a bath which they shared, enjoying the warmth and touch of each other, unafraid of being walked in upon as they brought each other to release in the water. Afterwards, Will's eyes hung heavy with drowsiness, cheeks flushed from the bath; it was eleven, far past his usual bedtime. 

Hannibal carried the boy into bed, dressed him in fresh-washed pajamas, Will nestling close and falling asleep at his side. Hannibal was unable to drop off as easily, still feeling the excitement and adrenaline from his struggle with Alana earlier. He sat up reading E.M Forster's Maurice until he too felt fatigued. There was no longer any need to await Alana's arrival into the master bed; she would not be back if she had any sense of self-preservation. Soon he would remove and destroy any trace of his former wife and daughter throughout the house, as if erasing their entire existence. 

Will had made himself quite at home in Hannibal's bed, although he was already awake and risen when he woke the following morning. Will did not look healthy; his flesh was ashen in tone, the hue and feel of the birch trees of his homeland. It appeared to be a flare up of hives, and Hannibal was at a loss at determining what had caused the reaction. His temperature had soared overnight; once more, water was all Hannibal could convince him to drink. It pained Hannibal to see Will so ill again, the boy's body twisted tautly around him, demonstrating a tense power despite his severe sickness. He appeared more worried and frightened that ill; whenever Hannibal managed to tuck Will back into bed, he either ran out if Hannibal seemed about to exit, fixing himself to him like a limpet, or he lay motionless, apart from the uncontrolled spasms of his muscles. The trembling distinctly abated whenever Hannibal was close at hand, but no amount of cuddling, stroking or kissing seemed to console him for very long. 

When Hannibal went into the kitchen to make them something mild to eat, he returned to find Will tense and angry, frantically trilling distressed sounds. Hannibal was pleased that no one called that day, not Jack, Alana, or Bedelia, and disturbed his care of Will. 

Will seemed little improved the next day. Alana called the house phone, but Hannibal didn't answer or return her call. The answering machine beeped, there was a pause as she considered leaving a message on her own machine, but the line clicked off. Hannibal was not at all curious about the reasoning behind her call – more accusations, or a groveling apology, a plea for marriage counseling? He could have cared less. 

Will was unable to sleep, so both suffered a restless night. 

The following morning Hannibal awoke to find Will gone, his impression in the mattress cool to the touch. Throwing on his dressing gown, he hurried downstairs, only to discover Will seated on doorstep outside, eyes seeking something distant beyond the horizon. Hannibal scolded him, bundling him up in his robe against the morning chill, a sharp fear in his heart – what if Will had left, ran away again, lost to Hannibal to another, or a hit-and-run, or the woods? It didn't bear thinking about; the locks would have to be double-bolted each night, the alarm system triggered. 

+

Alana called again, and Hannibal answered. She declared that she wanted to stop by the next day to collect her and Abigail's things. Hannibal said he would ensure that he and Will were out during that time. 

Alana gave a gusting sigh. 'Hannibal, can we not do this now? I mean, I know we've called it quits, but maybe we just have to put in a little more effort, that's all. I think we should try, for the sake of the kids.'

Hannibal was entirely unsurprised by her change of heart, and equally unmoved. 

'I'm afraid that is no longer an option, Alana,' he answered crisply. 

'What do you mean, no longer an option? Says who, you? I don't think it's too late; I mean we've both said and done things we regret, but if we try we can work through this.'

'The time for trying to save our marriage is long past.'

'How can you say that? You're just going to stand there and watch while our lives fall apart?' she said, voice the grating whine of a child. 

'Alana, this conversation is absurd, given the accusations you laid against me the last time we spoke, our uncouth little brawl in the stairway, and your own affair with Ms. Lounds and growing dependence on alcohol.'

'How dare you. I'm not a fucking alcoholic, and you know it!'

'If we cannot be civil even on the telephone, I think it's best that Will and I remove ourselves while you pack your possessions tomorrow.'

Hannibal noted that she did not refer to Abigail, although he was happy to cede full custody of their daughter to her. 

'Where are you staying at the moment?' he asked, out of little interest.

'None of your business,' she spat. 

'Honestly, Alana, there is no need for childishness. Do you really think I would hunt you down?' 

She was sullenly silent for a moment before answering.

'With a friend.'

'By the name of Freddie?' He couldn't help smirking at the thought. Domesticity and the presence of a child had a way of ruining love nests. 

'Why do you care?'

'Darling, I don't care in the slightest.'

'Fine. If you think there's no hope for us, you'd better make yourself scarce at home tomorrow. I'm not the only one responsible for the failure of our marriage, despite what people think.'

There was another call on the line, so Hannibal rather unceremoniously shut her off. It was Bedelia, whom he hadn't seen in ages, before the split with Alana. She asked how he was, and if he wanted to join her on her boat, or rather yacht, the Rebecca. Hannibal graciously declined; he was in no mood for sailing. Besides, Will would likely get seasick, or else he'd try to climb over the edge to touch the waves. Much more effort than Hannibal was up for at the moment. 

Instead, he spent the day with Will, who became alarmed when left alone. He was wary at the thought of Bedelia meeting him; he was both interested and afraid at what she might find. It was wiser, safer, to keep Will apart, a trick of the eye, a delusion, an apparition, a figure of speech, someone he could lie about if necessary.

If Bedelia never met him, and his visits to other interested parties like Jack and Chilton, were kept at an absolute minimum, he would be able to fend off the world, to keep Will for himself alone. 

+


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update sooner; coursework has been getting the better of me.

+

Hannibal's eyes, the entire area around them, felt without sensation, a sluggish deadening as if local anesthetic had been applied. Will was fascinated by this, gazing at the swelling flesh. He was able to persuade Will to drink some consomme that afternoon, but he was not optimistic about it, although the boy was not in pain. Will did not seem to understand what was wrong with himself, breaking into tears in the bathtub. 

Hannibal dabbed soothing eye gel onto the bags beneath his eyes, but it seemed to do little to diminish them. 

+

He awoke in the night feeling sluggish, blank, hoarse-throated and drab. In short, nothing like his usual self. He remained in bed, attempting to submerge himself back into sleep, but finding it elusive. Will pressed close to his side like a small burrowing animal, nestling into the shapes Hannibal's body formed as he rolled over, lay on his back, curled his knees, laid out, contracted. The boy was more receptive than he had been before his larger lapse in behavior. 

Hannibal made him hot milk and creamed porridge before climbing back into bed; he roused himself again when heard Will yawned, never losing his awe at the simple reflex which he saw every morning now. The sun had been shining for hours while they drowsed in their warm dark cocoon. Will ate his breakfast eagerly, although his lashes were still crusted with sleep grit, and he seemed muzzy. 

Hannibal dressed him hastily afterward eating, as Alana hadn't specified what time she was coming by the house, and he had no wish for Will to be present at their confrontation. He took him to his bedroom, which he hadn't slept in ever since they'd left; Will giggled, taking Hannibal's urgency for a game, content to play with his toys on the floor. 

Alana would easily guess where Will was, but Hannibal knew she would not want to make an ass of herself by bothering to seek him out. 

She drove up to the entrance at eleven, without pulling into the garage. Excellent, she planned to make it a quick visit. There was a woman in the car with her, her hair in distinctive bright red curls. Freddie Lounds. Hannibal's lips drew up in an ugly smile – Alana had dared bring that viper on his property, and she would pay for it. Freddie, as if sensing his potential for violence, remained in the car, chain-smoking cigarettes. 

He watched from an upstairs window as Alana peeped around the corner of the house to discern if his Bentley was in the garage or not. She was not a very physically powerful woman, without a sensual or carnal nature, yet her dismay at finding his car inside the garage was displayed in her face. As her dismay became rage, her body stiffened as she took short, strong steps to the door. 

She was as affecting and foolish as a child, her anger far from alarming. Hannibal's hands trembled with his sudden mirth, his stomach tensed with ferocity – oddly alike the signals of acute arousal and affection he felt with Will. He compelled himself to walk downstairs calmly. 

He was unsurprised to hear the doorbell instead of her key opening the door, although she rudely pressed it three times before he came to the door. She was restless, irritated and anxious to get started, slamming the door behind her quickly, as if to spare Freddie from his gaze. 

'I already noticed your paramour,' he said. 

Alana scowled at him. 

'Where's Will?' she questioned, leaping past him and up the stairs.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. 

'I fail to see how that is any concern of yours.'

She halted and turned around. 

'Where is he?' she repeated.

'May I ask why you are suddenly so interested in his whereabouts?'

'You can't stop me from seeing him. He's not just your ward, remember?' Her tone was excited and emotional. 

'I think if you review the paperwork, you will find that the full rights and responsibility to Will lie with me only,' he said, voice level, revealing nothing.

Alana's eyes narrowed, but she did not contest his claim, continuing upstairs. 

'Would you like an espresso? I've just made myself one,' he offered, playing the ever-polite host. 

'No,' she replied shortly, her voice diminishing, muted by the nooks, Turkish carpets, passageways, doors and silencing formations of the house. 

Hannibal left her to her own devices (all the better to corner her in), entering the kitchen and making himself another cup of coffee. Alana was silent and swift; when he returned upstairs to check up on her, she was shutting her largest portmanteau. She glanced up as he came into the room, watching her pack. 

'What's become of us, Hannibal?' she asked, suddenly wistful and lost in memory. 

He did not bother to answer her, merely staring back. 

'For fuck's sake, Hannibal, say something!' she spat. 

'Really, Alana, there is no need to resort to profanity. There is just nothing to say in this situation; it is too late for words. We have said enough.'

She looked up at him, beseeching, desperate. 

'That night – you know... It was just a joke, a stupid joke. I didn't mean it, things just got out of control. You know I don't think of you like a... a...'

'Paedophilia is not a joking matter.'

'I know! I'm sorry, everything just got so messed up...'

Hannibal shrugged his shoulders, indifferent to her imploring, teary eyes.

'Sometimes I felt like you didn't even care about me anymore, that you were the one having the affair. You're always so remote.'

'Nothing but your own projection.'

'But what about us?' she called after him as he left the room.

Hannibal stopped and turned back to her. Alana was in tears. He stood there momentarily before exiting the room. He did not re-emerge until after she had left, banging the front door in her wake. He did not love her; had never loved her. He was not capable of loving a creature of her banality. 

Once she had gone, Will emerged from the safety of his room, and before Hannibal registered he was beside him, climbing into his lap. He took Will back to bed, where it was warm. While Hannibal carried him, he reached out and touched his cheek. 

+


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the bearing with this fic and for being patient, guys. I really appreciate that, and for taking the time to kudos and comment.

+

Hannibal was confounded by the persistence of Alana's scent, the smell of her night sweat and skin cells clinging to his bedlinen, an irritating reminder of her continued existence. No matter how astringent his detergent, no matter how he tried to eradicate it, he could still detect her odor on the pillow cases. He was tempted to burn them, but instead ordered bespoke bedsheets in champagne, chocolate and maroon.

He found Will crying for no apparent reason, his eyes so swollen and red Hannibal felt sure he could hardly see. Hannibal crouched down, tousling Will's curls and pulling him into his lap. The boy laid his head down on Hannibal's shoulder, hiccups fading, lids hanging heavy with sleep. Hannibal held him close, until Will wriggled and slid down his body, pressing his mouth to Hannibal's stomach, kissing his furred navel, as mature and masculine as his own was young and boyish. Hannibal loathed having to put him down, but he heard the ringing of his phone. The screen lit up with Abigail's name. Would he never be fully rid of them?

He took her call as Will butted his head against his hand, seeking his attention. He prodded him in the direction of the kitchen, but the unintentional force behind his prompt caused Will to stagger feebly and fall on the floor. Cursing beneath his breath in German, Hannibal lifted him up and nudged him again. Will appeared bewildered as he swayed away.

'Hello, Abigail,' he answered. 'To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?'

His daughter's voice was hoarse, as if she'd been crying herself. 

'Hi Papa,' she choked out. 

'What's wrong, darling?' he asked, without a modicum of interest. 

'Papa... I – I miss you so much. When are me and Mommy going home?'

Hannibal suppressed a sigh of exasperation. 

'I'm afraid it will take some time, dear. But don't worry, everything will be alright. It will all be fine.' He reassured her with a stream of meaningless platitudes. 

'I have to go now. I'm not supposed to call you. Bye, Papa, I love you.' Abigail still sounded tear-stricken and morose, as any child might after being so used to getting their own way. 

'Good-bye, Abigail.' 

The call clicked off, and the phantom from his previous life disappeared. 

Will materialized at his side, having not left the room during the brief call as he had been propelled to. He seemed to sense Hannibal's annoyance, trying to console him by climbing back into his lap, looking up with his great trusting eyes, mimicking the things Hannibal did to soothe him when he was distressed.

Hannibal watched with interest as Will reflected and exaggerated his own emotion, his face becoming anxious, dismayed and solemnly troubled. Hannibal attempted to kiss away his worry, carrying him back to bed although Will seemed unwilling to stay. He pulled warm socks on Will's long-toed, thickly calloused feet, dressing him in thicker pajamas so he would not catch a chill should he insist on getting out of bed. 

Hannibal told him to stay in bed, but he could not help being pleased by Will's restiveness; it bode well for his recovery. 

Will was such a delight, such an enchanting child. 

+

Alana and Abigail had ceased their incessant contact for the moment. Hannibal accepted an invitation to play tennis with Bedelia; he felt uneasy leaving Will alone in the house, so he called Miriam to watch him for the afternoon. She had spent time with Will before, and she was a trustworthy caretaker, having enough sense to know that to fail in her duties to Dr. Lecter would be a fatal mistake.

Normally Hannibal did not care to partake in country club activities, where the American urban elite amused themselves athletically, sequestered behind walled communities and gated golf courses. But he was a skilled tennis player, despite having little practice, preferring as he did to swim laps, and could hold his own against Bedelia's prowess. After a few matches, showering and changing, they dined on a light lunch and drank iced cocktails on the terrace, where he informed her of his current separation from Alana and their impending divorce. 

Bedelia feigned no distress or surprise at his revelation. She told him frankly she had suspected as much for a while, although she seemed to sense he was holding back a fair amount, as always. Hannibal had compelled himself to tell her, so that she would not hear from someone else, story distorted out of his control on the gossip grapevine. She inquired about Will, and he told her little but enough to satisfy her for the moment. 

Once back home, he paid Miriam and sent her on her way, only to discover Will in Abigail's bed. He did not move when Hannibal entered the room, and for an instant of irrational terror, he thought Will was dead. The boy looked lifeless, his face empty of color, his body spread out on his back. When Hannibal felt his forehead, Will's eyes blinked open gradually and unwillingly. He smiled, shyly, and Hannibal felt breathless with relief. 

He lunged at Will, violently seizing him in his arms. Will tensed, frightened by his sharp movement, and hacked breathlessly. Once Hannibal would have locked him in a closet alone as punishment for alarming him, but he could no longer bear the thought of Will, huddled in a dark narrow space, sobbing piteously for Hannibal, scratching and kicking at the door in vain. 

'How about we play a game, hm? Do you want to play with your toys, or watch a film?' he asked, horrified to hear his own voice so falsely cheery. 

Will looked at him and tittered, bleating like a lamb.

Hannibal rocked him in his arms, noting how Will was heavier now, growing taller. No longer on the cusp of puberty, soon he would be an adolescent, then an adult. Hannibal felt disturbed at the thought, although he knew it was a reality. What would Will be like as a man? Still compliant and eager-to-please, reverent of Hannibal's authority, or a creature beyond his control? He held Will more tightly, stroking his back slowly, as much as of an apology as he was capable of giving. 

No, he would be sure to engineer the future – and Will as his partner – precisely as he wished. 

+


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been divorced, nor have my parents (although their marriage is in dire straits), nor have I lived in Maryland, so I have no idea if any of the information in this chapter pertaining to divorce in that state is correct. It may require a suspension of disbelief.
> 
> Nor have I ever eaten at Ouzo Bay in Baltimore, although it is a real restaurant. Would Hannibal approve of the offerings? Who knows.

+

Alana was seated at a corner table in Ouzo Bay, an upscale Greek seafood restaurant which Hannibal had little wish to associate with his former spouse. She had requested they meet in a neutral space to discuss the future, and he had complied to prevent her from returning to the house in the vicinity of Will. He watched his own advance in the mirror lining the wall above her, pleased to find his own face so smooth and unperturbed, a mask of refinement. 

She put down her phone at his approach, likely having texted Freddie while she was waiting to keep her prying lover up-to-date. Hannibal made no attempt to feign affection with a greeting kiss or touch to the hand, as he did with most female friends and colleagues. Alana attempted a weak smile to cover her disappoint at his coolness; he made no reaction. He wondered what it would be like, to be someone so unfortunately fettered, so obviously unable to skin the years of their marriage off with the ease of a shedding snake, like himself. 

'How are you, Alana?' he asked, beginning the round of trite small talk as he seated himself across from her. 

'I'm good, thanks,' she answered. 'How are you doing?'

How he loathed the American tendency to be grammatically incorrect. How difficult was it for a fairly well-educated woman to say 'well' instead of 'good'?

'Very well, thank you.' She nodded, and there was a moment of silence which she no doubt considered cripplingly awkward. Hannibal was merely bored. He examined her with a critical eye. Their unfriendly separation had evidently taken its toll on Alana, whose hair limply drooped into her eyes, which she then pushed back, only for it to fall forward once more. One of her knees shook the table; she was obviously tense and wished to be elsewhere. Hannibal was amused by how threatening she seemed to find his very presence.

She had already emptied a tumbler of whiskey, and when she ordered another, Hannibal ordered one as well, although he preferred wine to spirits. Through that drink and the next she mainly questioned him about banalities, how Will was, about the house, the garden, what he had heard from Jack, had he seen Woody Allen's latest film, had he seen Bedelia recently?

+

Hannibal grew impatient at the waste of his own treasured time, revealing that he had told Bedelia that they were separated.

'On that note, I must tell you that I've spoken to my lawyer, Vladimir Goldstein, to arrange the divorce.'

Alana swirled her whiskey around the glass, refusing to meet his eye.

'You sure didn't waste any time getting on it,' she laughed, bitterly.

He ignored her resentment and continued.

'In the state of Maryland, these matters are unfortunately drawn out. Initially one must undergo a period of legal separation, which we have already begun, which must be a year long. After a year, one can procure a divorce.'

'I guess they think people might change their minds.'

'I understand that is the idea.'

He did not rest at that, leaving no space to linger over what might have been. 

'My attorney has arranged the paperwork. I suggest you hire legal representation if you have not already.'

'Why? Isn't separation standard practice?' Alana asked, lips pouted mulishly. 

'Yes, but I imagine you would want a professional looking out for your best interests. We will have to concur on how the property is to be split, but as our other assets are already separate, I imagine that will make things much simpler.'

'You wouldn't swindle me, Hannibal,' Alana said with a laugh, as if they were sharing an inside joke. Hannibal only smiled at how little she knew of him.

'I would hope you have knowledge of my integrity in these matters.'

'But seriously, Hannibal, I don't think it's necessary to lawyer up. Why don't we just leave it to Vladimir to sort out? I'm not going to contest our divorce. If you really want it to happen, I won't stand in the way. Trying to keep you from getting what you want just isn't worth the effort.'

Hannibal smiled, teeth sharp as a sharks at her naivete and staggering lack of legal knowledge. Surely Freddie had urged her to be as mercenary as possible for her own benefit. How could she think he had any doubts about the state of their marriage? He had known it was stillborn the moment Will had come into his life. 

+

'Alana, you will do whatever you think is best. You should know that I have no wish to seek custody of Abigail.'

She gave him a dark, baleful look. 

'You didn't even have think twice about that, did you? Can't say I'm surprised; from the moment you saw Will Abigail might as well have been roadkill for all you cared about her.'

Hannibal sighed internally. The alcohol was registering in her system; she was becoming juvenile and nasty.

'I think we've said enough for the moment,' he said, eager to escape her drunken viciousness. 

'You know, husbands are supposed to support and encourage their wives. But you've never done a damn thing, Hannibal,' slurred Alana. 

'You only ever made me feel like everything was always my fault, that I was being a bad mother and neglecting Abigail. You said you would support me and my choices, but it was a nothing but a lie. You only care about yourself and what you want, Hannibal. You think you've got everybody fooled with your sophisticated saint act, but not me, no.'

She snickered, head bobbing. Hannibal had no wish to tolerate her appalling behavior, although he felt some satisfaction at the depth to which she had sunk. He played the gentleman and did not accuse her in turn; there was no need to stoop to her level.

The check arrived and he chivalrously paid it without a word. Alana erupted into another round of adolescent giggles while he watched her, amused and more than a touch self-satisfied at the thought of his little fledgling snuggly awaiting him at home. In time, Alana would receive her due for causing such an atrocious public scene, her malicious insinuations about his relationship with Will and her gall to criticize his performance of a husband. 

Yes, she would come to greatly regret it all.

+


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I suck - this chapter should have been up a few days ago, but a flat party and downloading dattch (and quickly becoming addicted) intervened. Thanks as always for your lovely, thoughtful comments and kudos.

When Hannibal carried Will from his bath to their bedroom, he rocked him in the hand-silk-screened towel, gripping it by the ends so that he was in cradled in the center. He laid him on his back on the bed like an infant and dressed him there, in normal clothes, not pajamas. Will played with Hannibal's hair as he leant over him, grasping a lock and pulling it out of place, tittering to himself. He held on when Hannibal drew back.

Will heard something and started to frown. Then Hannibal heart the sound as well – someone was knocking on the front door, instead of ringing the bell. Annoyed, he wondered who it was; Alana, again? But she had taken all of her possessions. 

Will did not wish him to leave, whimpering and tugging on the lock of Hannibal's hair. He was forced to pull the boy's fingers off, causing Will to kick and howl when Hannibal turned to leave. He wished Will would be freed of his envy of the others distracted Hannibal, much as he craved his covetousness as evidence of his reciprocity of Hannibal's feelings, yet surely the child was aware of how greatly he adored him?

The door opened to reveal no one other than Abigail, weeping on the front step, alone. She had only a backpack which appeared to be stuffed full of clothes. 

'Hello, Abigail. What a charming surprise,' said Hannibal, making it clear she was anything but. 

'P-papa,' she cried. 'I took a taxi from Auntie Freddie's house because I was so bored there. I got the money from Mommy's purse and I didn't ask her because I knew she'd say no.'

Hannibal grit his teeth in irritation, stepping aside so she could come in. 

'Why are you crying?' 

'Because I was so scared, but the taxi driver was nice to me because I said I was visiting my dad.'

Her tears dried as abruptly as if she had never been crying at all.

Hannibal was not amused by his daughter's little act of defiance, returning home to spoil his time with Will, making a nuisance of herself to everyone.

'You may sleep here tonight, Abigail, but first we are going to call your mother so she won't be concerned at your disappearance. She will pick you up tomorrow morning, but you must understand you can never play these kind of stunts. You've shown yourself to be very foolish and disobedient, and make no mistake – I will not stand for this kind of behavior. So if you wish to see me again, I suggest you do only what you are told to do. Do you understand?' 

His voice was even but glacial, the flicks of gold in his irises glowing crimson in the fading afternoon light. 

'Yes, Papa,' Abigail whispered, eyes wide, cowed. 

Hannibal watched her slink away to her room, dispassionately thinking she was an unfortunate creature, in a situation not entirely of her own making. It was a difficult time for any child, but he no longer considered her his responsibility, his kin, no matter their shared blood.

He called Alana, to discover she had only just noticed Abigail's absence. She claimed to have been distracted, gardening in the backyard, while Freddie was indoors on the phone, a weak justification. He reprimanded her severely, as if she too were a troublesome child, not his soon to be ex-wife. Yet another strike against her very existence. 

He desired only to obliterate memories of his former family life, yet it seemed as if Alana and Abigail strived to make this impossible. 

+

Jack rang the next day. He wanted to know how Will was doing and why Hannibal had taken him back to the hospital since. He did not ask about Alana; either he hadn't heard of their separation, or was merely bearing his time. He wanted Will to get tested by another throat specialist, giving Hannibal the number to set up an appointment. Hannibal wondered how long before the gossip of his and Alana's colleagues spread through Baltimore to the Children's Centre, if it hadn't already. 

Jack did not attempt to manipulate him with a mention of a possible visit to Chilton, although he said he had bumped into him at a dinner party and had been mortified to learn he'd received none of Hannibal's notes on Will's conditional therapy. Chilton was greedy with specialized cases like Will, and had attempted to infect Jack with his suspicions towards Hannibal's motives. 

Jack sounded more resigned than suspicious, which Hannibal felt sure had to do with his wife's worsening response to chemotherapy. He admitted there was little point in taking Will to see Chilton now, as he appeared to be in good health and doing so well, so long as Hannibal made the appointment with the throat specialist. If there was one quality Hannibal respected in Jack, it was that he had no wish to fuel a rumor mill. 

How satisfying it would be to implicate and incriminate the lot of them, from Chilton to Jack... But Hannibal was unwilling to risk himself or place his future with Will in peril. 

+


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, all. But don't worry, shit's getting real and we're nearing the conclusion.
> 
> Warnings for violence against a child.

+

It seemed that Chilton was regretting ceding full control of Will to Hannibal.

He was seriously contemplating taking Will away, departing Baltimore, perhaps the entire continent of America. Will would be in good health soon enough. He was eating well, and active again, although he grew fatigued quickly and was still too slim. Yet he was recovering, slowly but surely. Hannibal had no wish to ever set eyes on his daughter again, but he wondered if felt the same remorseless indifference towards the girl who had been his foster sister. It seemed unlikely; Abigail had been only hostile towards Will, transparently viewing him as the threat to her in Hannibal's eyes he was.

But Hannibal was concerned at the possibility that Alana might intervene, finding some way to take advantage of the situation before they had a chance to leave. It would be unfortunate indeed should Abigail be incorporated in her plans. 

Alana had not returned his call that morning inquiring when she would pick up Abigail after her solitary jaunt to her old home. Irritated, Hannibal considered driving Abigail to Freddie's apartment himself. 

Abigail and Will both cried a number of times that day for no apparent reason. Hannibal, annoyed beyond measure, flared up at each of them, speaking more roughly than he could recall to others beside Alana. He shattered a glass tumbler in the sink while cleaning it and gashed his thumb. He had not hurt himself in a kitchen since he was a small child. 

Will accompanied him to Abigail's bedroom, making no effort to hide himself from her sight. There was no need, as she was sound asleep. They stood beside her bed, watching her slumber. Hannibal wished he could just press a pillow to her face and be done with it. Later he found Abigail prowling around in Will's room, as if reclaiming his territory as her own. 

There was a great deal to keep an eye on, and Hannibal found himself floundering.

+

The following morning, he discovered Abigail lying motionless in bed, under a snowy mound of sheets. She was comatose. 

Will stood above her, hurling everything he could carry, burying her beneath them. He had taken devices from the kitchen counter, the toaster, the mixer, the juicer – how he had managed to hold them all while climbing upstairs was a mystery. 

Containers of lip gloss, lotion and jewelry were thrown to the floor, the contents of the waste basket scattered, her desk and vanity chairs upended. Nail polish bottles and glassware were smashed. Abigail's face was bloody, as were Will's hands. 

The clamor of objects dropping, wheeling and falling had woken Hannibal from an uneasy sleep. It had sounded as if his own bedroom were caving in. Absurd, ordinary, commonplace items became weapons, with Will in the middle, whirling, seeking to wreck greater havoc, eager to harm. His feral nature erupting, as Hannibal should have recognized it would. The warning signs had been clear. 

He leapt for Will, who glanced up, and on seeing him, beamed rapturously, as though Hannibal were going to embrace him.Will observed his advance but made no movement. Hannibal crashed into him with far more strength than he had intended, and he was carried off his feet. The porcelain doll in his hand flew against the wall, smashing into many fragments, numerous ceramic particles. 

Will perched in his arms, his small body shaking. 

'Papa,' he said, twisting in his arms, trying to get down, almost falling as he lost his grasp, before Hannibal caught him and held him closer, Will's heaving stomach to his own furred chest. The boy's head had been grazed and blood squirted, but it soon ceased after Hannibal applied pressure and a bandage. He would be all right, they would be fine, together.

'Papa,' he said once more, before he lost consciousness. Hannibal's heart swelled with pride. His child, his son, his boy! Creature of his heart, speaking! He had said 'Papa', not once, but thrice, two times in close succession. They were at the dawn of a new era, a new life with each other. That one word heralded a lifetime of conversations, sharing thoughts, ideas and plans with one another. 

But there was no time to rest in celebration. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Hannibal saw Abigail shift on the floor. Outside, he heard the sound of a car pull into the drive, parking in front of the garage. There were still obstacles to be dealt with before they made their escape.

+


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dickwad for not updating in so long. It wasn't my intention, dear readers, but coursework + family drama does not make it easy to prioritize fanworks. 
> 
> This is a wrap for this fic, and I apologize to those of you who want more of this verse and feel cheated, but I had always intended to leave off after these events, similar to the ending of season 2. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for all your support. It's been a great ride, so thanks for coming along.

+

Hannibal ensured recreating what occurred next was neigh impossible for future investigators. 

Unfortunate that he had not had time to prepare a proper breakfast for himself and Will, but he made do. Will observed his movements with wary eyes. 

The day was very warm, the sun far above drawing what little water there was from the ground. The wind was strong, ideal. 

When Alana entered the house with her key, Hannibal was waiting for her. He grasped her from behind, clamping his hand over her mouth before she could cry out, neatly slitting her throat with a linoleum knife. 

His only regret was that he hadn't been able to see her face while he did it, but watching Will's wide-eyed response was sweet enough, a perfect compliment to the warm spray of blood flowing down his fingers as he held his former wife's limp body in his arms in a final embrace. 

He left Alana slumped on the floor of the kitchen, her hair blackened with a spreading pool of blood. 

After eliminating Alana, there was little time to spare. She may have notified Freddie or Jack of her visit, and either would grow curious and concerned after a prolonged silence on her part. 

+

Hannibal tipped an entire bottle of oil into the rarely-used frier, filled to the rim, lighting a gas flame beneath it. It would take less than twenty minutes to arrive at the boiling point. He plugged in every electric appliance in the house, apart from the lights, which would draw neighborly attention, fixing each to the highest setting and flipping on all the switches. He kept Will close, so that the boy would not follow his example and accidentally electrocute himself. 

The house rumbled, a slight odor of burning plastic pervading the air. 

He ignited on the gas in the oven, shutting the door having made sure the flame was lit. He went upstairs, covering his daughter's body with her pink beanbag chair, stuffed with polystyrene foam, dragged in front of the electric fireplace where she had loved to loll before in winters past. He poured Alana's cheap alcohol over her body. Had she still been alive, the pain would have been unbearable. 

Hannibal's foresight had ensured that he had already sorted out his essential possessions and papers, including impressively forged Swiss passports for himself, as Gaspard Itard, and Will as his son, Victor, a playful nod to the the Wild Child of Aveyron legend. Many years ago he had set up a Swiss bank account under this alternate name, should an occasion arise compelling him to flee the States; he had always securely siphoned a portion of his income into the Swiss account, but only recently with greater acceleration. 

He carried Will and their modest luggage into the car parked in the garage, hidden from prying eyes. Hannibal briefly returned to the house, into his study, setting a match to his beloved library of priceless books, to his wastepaper basket of insignificant papers, bills and letter. He had never cared much for smoke of any kind, apart from that above a grill, but he could see the allure of pyromania, of watching drapes begin to smolder before one's very eyes.

How easily things were destroyed. He passed back through the kitchen, his former pride and joy, where the oil started to bubble. The house smelled of burning, but the fire alarms were all disabled. 

+

By the time the kitchen erupted, all traces of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham were long gone. The dark fumes from the burning household synthetics kept the firemen from entering the house in time to retrieve the bodies intact. The bodies were molten-soft and charred almost beyond recognition, removed too late from the inferno. Alana was recognized by her melted rose-gold wedding ring, although its engraving had long since fused with her skin, which she strangely had continued to wear past her separation with her husband. 

Masses of smoke billowed over the quiet, upscale slice of surburbia while neighbors clustered on their manicured lawns, peering into the flaming husk of a house.

Jack Crawford was driving to the house as the fire engines arrived, sirens blaring. His face grimly set, he watched the firemen hurry to curb the blaze as the first floor was inundated in flames. The windows had not burst yet, although the heat was extreme. 

+

In the first class section of a transatlantic flight, a sharp-faced, well-dressed man sipped a flute of champagne. Although he had reserved both reclining seats beside each other, the occupant of the one by the window sat curled on his lap, suckling his thumb sleepily. As he pressed a kiss to the drowsy boy's curls, the man's eyes seemed to glitter darkly with promises of raptures to come. 

+

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my attempt at a prompt I posted last year on the Hannibal kinkmeme. Because apparently a year is how long I need to actually write an idea of mine. 
> 
> This stems from an obsessive love with both Hannibal the show and the 1970 film L'Enfant Sauvage by François Truffaut, about the real case of the Wild Boy of Aveyron. So basically this is bastardization of both a cinematic masterpiece and true-life tragedy for my own sick fetishes. 
> 
> Warning: I know very little about psychology or psychiatry, apart from what I glean from reading feral child case studies. Also, this fic will contain an adult's (Hannibal) obsession with a feral pubescent child (Will), and sexually-charged moments between them.


End file.
